


The Boy Who Plays the Piano

by taegyungie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Coming of Age, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, chapter specific warnings will be in the notes, mystery to lovers?, they smoke a lot, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 84,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegyungie/pseuds/taegyungie
Summary: When the boy who played the piano disappeared from Yixing's life without a trace, he never expected him to explode back into his life, in such an astronomical way.OrYixing and Baekhyun both have a lot to learn. Perhaps they can learn it from each other.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here it is.  
> I've been working on this since... like... March? And haven't been able to work on much of anything else.  
> That being said, I have HAVE H A V E to thank the wonderful Jin (you know her on here as eggsootart) for being the most amazing, supportive, enthusiastic beta/editor anyone could possibly ask for. If it weren't for you I would have doubted the fuck out of this story.  
> There are four parts to it. Here is part one.  
> I'm currently about halfway through writing part three... So I'm slamming this out.  
> I will be posting bi-weekly! So expect part two in exactly two weeks from today!
> 
> PLEASE BE WARNED:  
> This story contains an extremely said and heinously broken Baekhyun. Like he gets pretty upsetting.  
> Part one is pretty mellow, but... just so you don't put your head under for something you wouldn't want to read in the end.
> 
> SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

The older and sicker Yixing’s grandfather gets, the more time Yixing spends running his music store. 

It’s a crisp spring day, bright and early, and Yixing grips his travel mug of tea in his left hand while he unlocks the shop doors with his right. He loves this time of day, when he flicks on the lights and the shop is empty and quiet. Still, silent, as if it’s still sleeping. He sips his tea, walks through the store, making sure everything looks the same as it did when he locked up last night, runs his fingers over the instruments to make sure there isn’t a collection of dust, flits his fingers over the keys of the keyboards and pianos, feels entirely at peace. He loves his grandpa’s shop. He loves this little haven of creativity in his small, modest town. Being anywhere else sounds a nightmare to Yixing. 

Bright-eyed and barely twenty, content exactly where he is, he feels no need to step out of his boundaries. Someone needs to run the shop. 

The sign is turned over from closed to open, and he sheds his jacket and tosses it in the back room before making camp behind the counter, tea still steaming, eyes still a little puffy with sleep. It’s always slow first thing in the morning, but eventually a few customers wander in. People don’t always buy. Mostly teenagers who come in in groups, know Yixing by name, look at a few of the instruments and fool around - they know not to break anything, for fear of seeing the endlessly mild-mannered Yixing lose his patience - and then bid their goodbyes. Some of Yixing’s students come in for their guitar or piano lessons. Everything goes smoothly, just like every other day. 

A little before noon, the door chimes with a new arrival, and Yixing smiles to himself as he busies his hands organizing a pile of sheet music. Yixing’s favourite time of day is the stillness of the morning, but the only time of day that could possibly compete is a little bit before noon, when a nameless boy comes in for just a little while. 

“Good morning,” Yixing says to him. 

“Good morning,” the boy returns, with a polite nod and crooked smile, before immediately weaving through the displays to his usual spot. 

Yixing doesn’t know much about the boy who plays the piano. Just that he’s about the same age as Yixing, perhaps a little younger, and he has terrible posture and is always bundled up, covered up to his chin in sweaters and scarves. He has pretty hands, made for playing the piano, and the songs he plays are always beautiful and somber, and it’s extremely likely that he comes in, every day, just to escape. 

Escape what? Yixing may never know. Instead, he just sits behind the counter, listens to the boy play song after song, wonders where this boy came from and why his music is more than just a sound, it’s a feeling too. 

This time of day is technically Yixing’s lunch break, but he can’t find it in him to close up shop when this skinny kid comes wandering in every day in clear and obvious need of something to keep his twitchy hands busy. Yixing sits at his counter, munches on a sandwich, listens to the melodies saturating the air around him. He finishes eating, cleans up a little, frowns at the clock because the boy who plays the piano has been here much longer than usual. It’s a curious thing. Yet Yixing doesn’t exactly feel as though he should inquire, let alone whether he  _ wants  _ to. He’s a bit mystified by the fact that this boy is, and always will be, a mystery. 

It’s nearly three in the afternoon by the time the boy pulls his hands away from the ivory and into his lap. He sits a moment longer. Yixing is busy helping a customer decide between two different guitars, but he can’t help but glance over his shoulder occasionally, where the boy who plays the piano just sits, still, silent. His shoulders hunch forward and his head hangs low and it bothers Yixing, though he doesn’t even know this kid. 

“I think I prefer the Gibson,” the customer is saying, drawing Yixing’s attention back to earth.

Yixing flashes his customer service smile. “Excellent choice, sir. I’ll ring you up.”

Quickly, Yixing puts the customer through, accepts payment, and sends the gentleman on his way. The jingle bells on the door chime as it opens and closes, and soon, there’s no one in the store except Yixing, the boy who plays the piano, and the warm, late afternoon sun streaming in from the windows. 

The boy takes a deep breath, stands up, but hesitates a moment longer, just staring down at the piano before him. Yixing waits for something to happen, the air around him heavy and thick with some strange sense of tension, anticipation. Today feels different than other days, and Yixing thinks it has something to do with how the boy seems hesitant to leave. Hesitant to step through those doors and back into real life. 

It’s slow, but the boy wanders toward the door, observing everything as if committing it to memory. He has a hand on the door, now, pausing. Yixing takes in a breath, feeling as though he needs to say something, ask what’s wrong,  _ anything.  _

The boy, however, beats him to it. “Thank you,” he says in a small voice, looking over his shoulder at Yixing. “Thanks for letting me play.”

Yixing is a little dumbfounded, just gaping back at the boy’s wide eyes, mouth flapping like a fish out of water. “Uh, yeah,” Yixing says, pathetically. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

They hold eye contact just a moment longer, silence louder than the music from before. Yixing is searching for something, in those deep, dark eyes of the boy, searches for a light, for a hint, a flame. There’s nothing. They are just dark and lifeless, and it makes Yixing’s belly churn. 

He wants to say more, learn more. But the boy who plays the piano has turned around, and is already gone. 

\-----

The nursing staff at the home his grandfather stays in is always friendly, and they all know Yixing by name. Old Mr. Zhang is a local favourite, according to them, the best storyteller on this floor, and a hit on the piano in the common room. It makes Yixing happy, to know his grandfather is well looked after and plenty loved. He really had wished his parents had room in their home to take grandfather in, but this is a decent alternative. 

“Orange Pekoe, one milk,” one of the staff says with a smile, already handing Yixing the cup of tea before he even needs to ask. 

“Thank you,” Yixing bows politely, accepting the cup and turning down the hall toward his grandfather’s room. 

He knows he doesn’t need to knock, but he does so anyway, because his mother raised him to use his manners. His grandfather beckons him to come in and Yixing does, with a smile, immediately placing the steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. 

“Your tea,  _ yehyeh.”  _

“I swear to you, child,” his grandfather begins, his tired eyes smiling up at Yixing, “you always know  _ just  _ when I’m starting to get bored.”

Yixing chuckles, settling into the armchair beside the bed. “It’s a sixth sense that I have. I always know just when you want to see me.”

“Hm, that’s not a difficult puzzle,” his grandfather says, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “I always want to see you.”

Yixing smiles. His grandfather sighs.

“Tell me, child,” he says, “how is my beloved store doing?”

There's no point in suppressing the smile that spreads across Yixing’s face. There are two things Yixing and his grandfather have in common, at least two  _ vital _ things. And it’s their love of music and their love of that little shop. Yixing was practically raised in that store, and just like his grandfather, he’ll grow old there, too. Until he’s too old and sick to run it himself. 

“She’s well,” Yixing says. They always refer to the store as a  _ she,  _ as his grandfather has said time and time again he has loved her as he loved Yixing’s grandmother. A beloved companion through countless years. He sighs and continues, “A few of the kids are doing so great in their lessons. I give it a month before little Yerim is better at the piano than me.”

There’s a lull for a moment, where Yixing’s mind wanders. He thinks about the pianos and the guitars and the kids he teaches how to play. He thinks about a boy, with the only skin visible his face and his hands, his eyes dead and lifeless, his shoulders hunched in defeat. His songs, varying from something joyful to something dripping in sorrow, progressively getting louder, fuller, the longer he plays. As if he’s being immersed, buried, submerged in his melodies and struggling to find the surface. 

“Something is troubling you.”

His grandfather’s voice yanks him out of his trance. He blinks, twice, three times, as he finds footing back on earth. His grandfather stares back at him, studiously, and Yixing thinks that despite all the illness and despite all the aging, his grandfather has more life and light in his eyes than a boy who should be abundant in youth and sparkle. He remembers a time when his grandfather was a younger man, healthy and strong - but still wiser than any other man on earth - before his grandmother passed. Suddenly, his grandfather was aging faster than Yixing had seen before. Then the cancer struck. And it saddens Yixing, to see how some things just come to their ends, and sometimes the end rushes forward much sooner than you had expected. Than you had planned. 

He takes a breath, shrugs. “There’s this boy,” he begins, “and he comes in every day to play the piano for about an hour. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Right, well…” Yixing isn’t sure what to say. He isn’t entirely sure what’s bothering him. It’s all just so strange. “He intrigues me, you know? He’s… I know so little about him yet I feel like I know everything there is to know.”

Yixing’s grandfather takes a long sip of his tea. Yixing shifts in his seat, getting comfortable. 

“Usually, he comes in, we say a quick greeting, he plays, and he leaves. Today he stayed for  _ hours.  _ He looked reluctant to leave and when he finally did he. He thanked me.” He can feel his grandfather’s eyes studying him, making mental notes and deciphering the pieces for himself. He continues, “The way you thank your hosts for having you for dinner at the end of the night.”

It’s quite some time before his grandfather says anything. Rather, the old man sips at his tea and hums contemplatively. It’s not as though he needs time to think. No, he’s giving Yixing time to think, to reflect on everything he’s said. 

He has nothing conclusive. But luckily, just in time, his grandfather puts his empty mug down and pushes himself further up against the headboard. Yixing braces himself. 

“You know, child,” he begins, “there was once a time when your mother picked you up and held you on her hip, then put you down and never did it again. You took your very last sip from a baby bottle. You got on that bright blue bicycle you got for your eighth birthday and rode it down the street for the very last time, once.”

Yixing blinks, waits. His grandfather heaves a heavy sigh, staring out the window at the silver light that remains after sunset. Yixing waits some more. 

“When I said  _ goodnight, I love you  _ to your grandmother for the very last time, for some reason, I knew it would be the last. I didn’t know why, but I knew I had to say it with more conviction than any time I’ve said it before.”

“ _ Yehyeh-” _

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Yixing clenches his jaw and looks at his fists balled together in his lap. He thinks about those pretty hands and those pretty songs. And he thinks about the shop without the music every day, silence taking its place. 

“Yes,  _ yehyeh.” _

His grandfather hums. “Good. Now please go fetch a nurse. I’m in terrible pain.”

\-----

Time, Yixing thinks, is the biggest cheat in the world. 

He swears, it was only yesterday, that Kyungsoo was enrolling in university, wide-eyed and excited for his future. Yixing distinctly remembers Kyungsoo urging him to apply, that it was never too late, even at twenty, he could enrol with him, they could have classes together. And Yixing distinctly remembers telling him he was happy as he was, that with his grandfather’s illness there needed to be  _ someone _ to run the shop, and Yixing was happy to do it. 

And today, on a clear night in April, Yixing has alcohol swimming freely through his veins and a blur at the edges of his vision, because Kyungsoo has just finished his fourth and final year, and they’re celebrating. Four years.  _ Four years. _

It might just be because Yixing is drunk and subsequently emotionally raw, but he thinks it’s completely unfair. 

But, at the very least, he’s with good company and having a pretty good time. At twenty-four, he feels a little old and jaded to be in this type of joint. In their small town there isn’t an abundance of options when it comes to nightlife, and this little patio bar is always the most popular. Especially amongst college students and the high school kids with fake IDs. While Yixing is  _ technically  _ around their age, he feels like such an old soul in comparison. He isn’t in school, he isn’t just beginning. He’s comfortably sitting in the middle of his story, already has his career, has been doing it for years now. 

Alcohol solves that problem, however. He feels loose and comfortable in his skin and laughs freely at Chanyeol’s loud, clumsy, drunken antics. Chanyeol’s supposed to be the one opening the shop tomorrow. Judging by the shape he’s in right now, it’ll probably be Yixing going in early on the day that’s supposed to be his late day. It could be because he’s a little tipsy, but he doesn’t really mind. 

The Patio is packed, however, and Yixing is knocking shoulders and elbows with just about everyone that happens to pass by. It’s only April, and the air isn’t  _ that  _ warm, but amongst all the bodies and all the booze he’s beginning to feel like he’s overheating. 

“I’m gonna step out for a smoke,” Yixing announces, to no one in particular. Kyungsoo hears him, though, and nods his confirmation. It isn’t until Yixing is almost at the entrance to the designated smoking section that he realizes his friends are following. 

“I could use the fresh air,” Kyungsoo says. Yixing thinks it’s funny that he considers the smoking section ‘fresh air.’ “And I couldn’t leave this dummy alone.”

Said dummy flashes his biggest, sloppiest smile, and Yixing laughs up at him before turning back to watch where he’s going. Some more shoulders, some more elbows, and Yixing is stepping out into the much more sparsely populated smoking area, where he can swing his arms at his side and not worry about hitting anyone. He sighs. It’s nice.

He leaves Chanyeol and Kyungsoo to whatever they’re doing - something about keeping Chanyeol from toppling over onto unsuspecting people half his size - and steps a fair distance away, knowing his friends don’t smoke and it’s only polite not to blow it in their faces. Taking a smoke out of his pack and sticking it between his lips, he glances around, studies the clear dark sky above them, the poorly lit faces of other smokers and their non-smoking friends standing idly around. Everyone’s laughing or singing or talking about something that matters to them in their drunken states and Yixing breathes, slowly, trying to muster up his self-awareness enough to photograph this night into his memory, because for some reason, this feels important.

Perhaps it’s because this is a monumental day in his friend’s life. Perhaps it’s for a reason entirely different.

Yixing pats his pockets, frowning. He brought a pack but no lighter? He sighs, long and low, his shoulders sinking in defeat and disappointment. There are many others around, all smoking lit cigarettes, which means  _ someone’s  _ bound to have a lighter. Yixing just needs to find someone to ask.

Chanyeol’s laughter is loud to his right, but Yixing barely hears it. Instead, he only hears the pounding of his heart, louder than the thumping bass just beyond the gate between the smoking section and the dance floor. Yixing is surrounded by a lot of faces he recognizes. When you live in a small town like theirs, there’s no such thing as a foreign face, a person without a name. 

All except one. 

His hair is bleached a shocking shade of blond, grown out at the roots and still cut stylishly shaggy and meticulously tousled. His body fills out his clothes better, fuller thighs straining against dramatically torn jeans, broad chest draped in a laughably oversized t-shirt. A lot of him is different. The hair, the  _ curves,  _ the way he’s so nonchalantly, confidently leaning against the brown brick wall. But his hands, one tucked against his ribs and the other cradling a cigarette between two fingers and bringing it to his lips… they’re still exactly the same. Perfectly elegant. Painfully delicate. 

It’s been four years. For the first time in  _ four years,  _ Yixing is finally seeing the boy who plays -  _ played  _ \- the piano.

Blame the booze, the dreamy state of Yixing’s head, even the pseudo-encouragement of the uplifting pop song playing past the gate. Blame anything but Yixing’s common sense as his feet carry him closer, closer, to the bundle of blond hair and smoke. Closer, until he’s standing right in front of him, practically toe-to-toe, meeting the boy’s gaze through the smoke that billows between them. 

From this close, Yixing can make proper note of all the smaller, yet still profound, differences in him. His face is older, fuller, no longer hollow and sunken and grey. His shirt hangs loose around his neck, broadcasting a tempting amount of collarbone, no longer bundled up to his chin in heavy knits and dark colours. Difference after difference jumps out at Yixing, as they just stand there and study each other, for possibly a few beats too long. 

The greatest comparison, though, that Yixing can’t shake, is the amount of mischief, spark,  _ flame  _ behind his eyes. Gone are the dull and lifeless eyes of the boy that existed four years ago. He’s full to bursting with so much  _ life  _ it renders Yixing without word. Without thought. 

“Need a light?”

Yixing blinks out of his daze, remembering what he’s doing here in the first place, remembering there’s a cigarette hanging limp and unlit from his lips. He takes too long to respond, even longer because he realizes how long he takes and tries to recount just  _ how many  _ drinks he’s had tonight, but before he can react the boy is smirking to himself, perfectly amused, holding his lighter up to the end of Yixing’s cigarette and flicking it alight. 

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

They just stand there a little bit longer. Yixing can’t stop…  _ looking _ at him. Studying him, absorbing him, a little in awe that he’s… here. He’s real. It’s been so long that Yixing began to think he’d only imagined him in the first place. But here he is, bright and vivid and watching Yixing with equal fervour and curiosity. He twinkles, he  _ burns _ . Every time the boy blinks Yixing swears he hears the strike of a match. 

“You still working at the music shop?” 

Yixing’s train of thought stutters to a stop. So he remembers him, too. He really hadn’t thought he made nearly as much of an impression on the kid as the kid made on him. Four years is an awful long time, after all. 

“I own it, now, actually.” Has owned it since his grandfather died, his will was read, the deed to the shop signed off to none other than Yixing. The only one who’s ever loved the shop the way his grandfather did. 

Eyebrows shoot up, disappear behind bangs. “How poetically just,” he says. Yixing frowns. The boy takes a drag of his cigarette, the end burning a bright and vivid orange, the ash competing fiercely with the fire behind his irises. 

“I suppose so,” Yixing responds, a few seconds too late, a few syllables too slow. 

Pretty, deep, vibrant eyes narrow at him a moment, picking him apart. Yixing can’t help but be totally consumed with the thought that he’s  _ so stupidly beautiful  _ it’s incredibly unfair. All four years did to Yixing was make his eyes and the corners of his mouth look a little more tired. Four years seemed to revive, rebirth, renew the boy who played the piano. Fill him with this vibrancy and this bounce and this ability to  _ enchant.  _ Yixing has had too much to drink.

They stand there and they smoke. They alternate between sneaking glances at each other and studying each other without shame. Yixing feels like he has a million questions dancing on the tip of his tongue. Where has he been all this time? What has he been up to? Why has he never returned?  _ What is his name? _

But, the question he settles on is, “Do you still play?”

And he doesn’t get a real answer. Instead, the boy says, “I’m surprised you actually remember me.”

_ I could say the same,  _ Yixing thinks. But aloud he says, “How could I possibly forget you?”

The reaction he earns is a gaze engulfed in flame. Curious tugs at the corners of a pretty mouth and the amused cock of an eyebrow. Yixing internally winces. He tends to be too earnest, too honest, even when he’s completely sober. Let alone when his tongue is soaking in alcohol, loose, unquestioning. People don’t always take that well to his honesty. 

At least the boy looks mostly pleased by this. 

Yixing decides to just continue talking. As if that will make everything better. “You’re practically unrecognizable, though. Not just the blond hair or the…” He trails off, glancing down at where blue denim hugs round hips. The boy looks smug enough that Yixing knows he gets the point. “But you’re… you… it’s like you’re made of matches.”

A giggle. “What?”

Yixing sighs, rubs a hand down his face. “I don’t know.”

The boy shakes his head, laughter still in his eyes, smiling in amusement. He looks as though he’s about to say more, but a loud noise catches their attention and they both turn their heads to see Kyungsoo struggling to keep Chanyeol upright while the both of them laugh themselves red. Chanyeol is obnoxiously shouting  _ TIMBEEERRRR _ while Kyungsoo curses at him through his mirth. 

“Those your friends?”

“Yeah.”

The boy takes the last drag of his cigarette. Yixing sees him crush the butt with his heel from the corner of his eye. “Cute.”

Kyungsoo seems to be legitimately struggling, at this point. “I should-” but Yixing doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s walking away, toward his friends. Kyungsoo appears grateful, as it’s now a team effort, getting Chanyeol upright through the laughter and the drunken clumsiness of all three of them combined. It’s a unanimous decision, it’s time to call it a night. They make to leave. Yixing turns his head to the right. 

There’s no one there, leaning against the wall. He tries his best to stomach his disappointment. 

\-----

Yixing wore this suit to his baby cousin’s baptism two years ago. He wore this suit to that fancy university benefit Kyungsoo dragged him to a little over a year ago. And he wears it tonight, at Kyungsoo’s brother’s wedding, an hour out of town and on a clear, pleasant Saturday evening. 

He kind of understands why everyone refers to him as a creature of habit. 

The ceremony has just ended and all the guests are beginning to disperse for the cocktail hour. Everything was beautiful, went smoothly, everyone teared up during the beautifully eloquent and earnest vows. Yixing, however, is terribly absent. 

“Alright, Xing,” Chanyeol says, slapping a hand down on Yixing’s shoulder. “I gotta know. What’s going on with you?”

Yixing just shrugs. 

“Seriously, dude, you’ve been on Mars since last week. What’s on your mind?”

A sigh. “It’s nothing.”

The truth is, Yixing hasn’t been able to get the boy who played the piano out of his mind. Since running into him last week, Yixing has been flooded, overwhelmed with thoughts of dainty hands playing far from dainty melodies from the shop’s grand piano. He can’t stop thinking about the difference between that boy sitting at that bench and the one with his back against the cool brick wall. He’s filled to the brim with questions, curiosity, a hunger for  _ more.  _ Yet he came and went again in such a flurry, Yixing sometimes thinks he may have dreamt the whole thing up. 

Chanyeol doesn’t look like he believes him, but it’s then that Kyungsoo approaches them, the dapper best man that he is, and the conversation is forgotten. They chat around their Old Fashioneds and talk about the ceremony and enjoy the nice weather. At some point the waiters for the caterer come out, smartly dressed, trays of finger foods and appetizers in hand. A few come by with delicious snacks that Yixing positively dies over. Kyungsoo tells them this caterer had apparently come highly recommended. That much is obvious. 

“Sausages?” Rings a sultry voice to Yixing’s left.

He turns, quickly, and is immediately struck dumb at the sight of bleached blond hair and that all-knowing glint in his gaze. They stare at each other a moment, both clearly surprised to see each other here… again… so soon. And just when Yixing really was starting to think his entire encounter with the boy last week was all in his imagination. 

The boy’s initial shock fades away quickly, however, morphing into a small smirk, smiling eyes.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, voice sweet and sticky. “Don’t you look handsome.”

Yixing glances down at his suit, then back at the boy. He’s in uniform, a crisp white dress shirt with an unbuttoned collar, well fitting black slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, tray of food in hand. He can’t help but to reply, “As do you.”

“Do you two know each other?” Kyungsoo asks, brows furrowed.

Yixing turns to blink at him. “I think so.”

Kyungsoo’s brows somehow furrow further. “Think so?”

Something must click in Chanyeol’s mind, then, as he lets out a small, “Oh.”

But a pleasantly rich chuckle draws Yixing’s attention. “Anyway, I asked you a question, you know,” he lilts, teases. Yixing is sucked right back in all over again. There’s just something about those electric smiles and torrid eyes that make Yixing feel like he’s trying to walk through molasses. “Sausages?”

Yixing smiles back at him, reaching out to take a mini sausage from the tray being held out to him. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He doesn’t stick around much longer, quickly sauntering off to wait on more attendees in one sweeping motion. Yixing watches him go, watches the swing in his hips and the breadth of his shoulders, the way he keeps his chin held high and the corner of his vision peeking over at Yixing in brief intervals. Why must he be so  _ intriguing?  _

“So,” Chanyeol says, loudly, drawing both Yixing’s and Kyungsoo’s attention toward him. “That’s the guy you were talking to at the bar last week.”

“How do you remember that?”

“I wasn’t  _ that  _ drunk, Xing.”

Kyungsoo snorts.

Chanyeol looks back at Yixing eagerly. “So? Who is he? Do you know him?”

Yixing looks over his shoulder, meets the boy’s gaze again. It sparkles and it burns, perfectly matching the smirk that twitches the boy’s lips as their eyes meet. “It’s a long story,” Yixing answers, still not turning around to look at his friends. “I don’t know his name but… I’ve known him for years.”

“Cryptic,” Kyungsoo says. “But, a conversation for another time, yeah?”

Yixing turns back to smile at his friend. “Yeah. Another time.”

It isn’t difficult for his friends to quickly forget the conversation, as the reception carries on and food is served and music starts. The evening is pleasant, the DJ is good, everyone is having a blast. Yixing takes it easy with his drinking and has fun dancing and laughs with his friends and meets some new people. It’s fun, he’s having  _ fun,  _ but he cannot, for the life of him, get that boy out of his head. 

What is it about him that makes him so damn  _ sticky? _

Sometime during the night the DJ plays a slower ballad and Yixing  _ cannot _ handle another slow dance with that cousin of Kyungsoo’s with the red dress and the eager, expectant eyes, so he sneaks out for a quick smoke. He hasn’t had one all night, anyway. It doesn’t take long for him to step out from under the tent, and he looks up at the crystal clear, starry sky. It’s not as though there’s much light pollution in his small city, but here, in open meadows and a long stretch of land, he feels like he can reach up and pluck each star from the sky.

“We have  _ got  _ to stop running into each other in smoking sections.”

Yixing whips his head around, searching for the voice. And there, once again, stands the boy. He’s shivering a bit, in nothing but his flimsy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his overgrown hair is a bit of a mess from running around in the wind all evening, but he’s beautiful, and it’s stupid. Yixing should not be this fantastically mesmerized by a boy he barely even knows. 

He lights his cigarette, releases a puff, tries his best to match the boy’s smirk. “Can’t think of any better incentive to quit-”

The boy playfully slaps his arm. “Hey! I’m reason to  _ start  _ smoking, handsome almost-stranger.”

Yixing hopes it’s too dark for the boy to see the heat rise to his cheeks. “Yixing.”

“Hm?” He hums around the cigarette between his lips. 

“My name. I’m Yixing.”

The smile he earns from the boy is so big, so bright, and Yixing can’t even fathom how sharp his teeth are. “Baekhyun,” the boy says around the square angles of his smile. “My name is Baekhyun.”

Yixing feels something fizzle out within him. Perhaps it was that mysticism that surrounded his concept of the boy who played the piano. Knowing his name… it sort of kills the illusion. But Yixing thinks he might prefer this, more. Might prefer actually knowing him.

Especially when those dark irises of his gleam at him through the clouds of smoke, shining impossibly bright in this kind of darkness. Yixing thinks his  _ name  _ is just the first of many things he wants to learn.

“You never answered my question, last week,” Yixing says, slowly, weighing the situation out as he speaks. The boy - Baekhyun - just cocks his head, puppy-like, annoyingly adorable. “Do you still play?”

This smile is small, a little melancholic. Baekhyun looks down at his hands. “Nah,” he says. “These hands are for serving sausages, now.”

Yixing laughs, good and hearty. “I’m sure working for this caterer is  _ very  _ taxing.”

It’s Baekhyun’s turn to laugh, but his laugh is small and sweet. “My best friend and his girlfriend run it, actually. They hired me out of the kindness of their hearts.”

Yixing hums, infinitely curious about  _ everything  _ he could possibly learn about this boy. He wants to dig right in, take him apart, learn all his secrets and all his pieces, hopefully put him back together. 

He seems complicated, however. A complex puzzle that Yixing’s not sure would be more difficult to take apart or put together. 

“It’s really such a favour, hiring you?”

This smile is cryptic, secretive, almost  _ bitter.  _ “I’m surprisingly unhirable.”

Yixing doesn’t have anything to say. He just studies him, as the boy studies back, sizing each other up and calculating everything they take note of. Like the freckles that line up on the boy’s lip, cheek, temple. The small scar up the side of his left forearm, all his hollow spots; beneath his jaw, between his collarbones, behind his eyes in those brief moments he forgets to maintain his meticulously constructed exterior. Yixing wonders what Baekhyun has noted about him.

He’s startled when Baekhyun holds his hand out, palm up and open.

“Uh,” Yixing says, dumbly. 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes but smiles, all the same. “Give me your phone, I wanna put my number in it.”

“Oh.” Yixing chuckles. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

Baekhyun is positively flabbergasted by this. “What!?”

Yixing shrugs.

“In 2018? How do people reach you?”

Yixing tosses his head back, laughing. “I have a landline, you know.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Baekhyun says with narrowed eyes. “It’s like you’re stuck in two thousand and two.”

Yixing rolls his eyes, takes a dramatically long drag of his cigarette, blows it right in Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun just sighs, pulling his own phone out of his back pocket. 

“Alright, Yixing, what’s your  _ home _ phone number?” He asks, sneering, like it’s disgusting that Yixing uses a landline. Again, he rolls his eyes, but gives his number to Baekhyun anyway, trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in his belly over the implication that he and Baekhyun will see each other again. 

There’s a long moment of quiet between the two of them. Yixing wonders what Baekhyun is thinking.

“Hyung!” 

Both Baekhyun and Yixing turn around to see Chanyeol and Kyungsoo at the entrance, peeking their heads out, excitedly waving for Yixing to come to them. 

“Hyung,” Chanyeol says again. “Come get some cake! It’s so good!”

“Take your time, though,” Kyungsoo says, a tad too studiously, eyes flicking between Yixing and Baekhyun.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Yixing says, and Chanyeol and Kyungsoo both retreat back into the tent. He turns to Baekhyun. There it is again, that  _ blazing  _ look in his eye. 

“Those the only friends you got, Yixing?” 

Yixing chuckles. “More or less. But what more do I need?”

Baekhyun just hums. They both finished their cigarettes a little while ago, though neither of them have parted yet, Yixing realizes.

“I should head back in,” he says, a little disappointed. 

Baekhyun looks up from the spot in the grass he was staring at. Yixing says a silent prayer to his ancestors at the sight of the stars reflected in Baekhyun’s dark eyes, the light from inside the tent warming his round cheeks, red from the cold. 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, voice painfully small. Yixing wants to grab it, collect it, keep the sound forever. The boy quickly shakes himself out of whatever state he’d been in, though, beaming and teasing, “So I’ll just telegram you, then? Or do you prefer carrier pigeon?”

Yixing laughs loudly, already walking away from Baekhyun with a shake of his head and a dusting of pink at the tops of his cheeks. “Shut up and  _ call me,  _ you jerk.”

Baekhyun winks at him, then turns away to pull another smoke from his pack. Yixing feels frighteningly sad about stepping back into this tent. 

\-----

Yixing’s favourite time of day is still inarguably the morning, when the shop is merely waking up alongside him. He loves the peace, the quiet, the hazy fog of sleepiness that follows him around until his mind catches up with his body and the sun is higher in the sky. He loves the way the thick streams of sunlight in the windows make the flecks of dust sparkle in the air, when it’s just him, the instruments, and his train of thought. 

Closing time, however, does compare. It’s still peaceful, quiet, just Yixing and the instruments and his train of thought. Except instead of bright morning light it’s the slightly pink remainders of a stunning sunset, cooling into the grey of twilight. It’s quiet, but it’s tired. Not groggy, like the morning. Ready for rest after a long day of work. The instruments have the hardest job, after all, making themselves look as buyable as possible to everyone that happens to wander in. 

It’s quiet, and Yixing feels pretty good. Today has been long, one of his open-to-close days, as Chanyeol was off. But he doesn’t feel  _ drained.  _ Just pleasantly dozy as he locks the cash register and grabs his jacket. He stands at the door, giving the store one last look, all the instruments and sheet music and memories sitting still and comfortable, just where they always are. 

“Good night,” Yixing says aloud, and flicks off the lights. 

It’s a little chilly, though it’s nearly May and the temperature  _ should _ be going up. It isn’t unbearable, though, and actually does a pretty good job waking Yixing up a bit, the wind biting his cheeks and the tips of his ears, hands stuffed in the pockets of the jacket his mother bought him for his birthday three years ago. His sneakers scuff at the sidewalk, his lungs suck in a large breath of fresh air, he blinks up at the sky, still just  _ barely  _ pink. His cheeks are probably pinker. 

He has a car, sure. But he only lives a fifteen minute walk from the shop. He loves to walk to and from work. His shop isn’t quite on the main road, but it isn’t on the outskirts of town, either. Walking in the morning and in the evening is a pleasant way to experience his little town, the people that run their own businesses along this stretch, his neighbours and his acquaintances. Living in a small town has its perks, sometimes, and one of them is certainly how you just know  _ everyone.  _ A sense of camaraderie and friendship amongst everyone around you. 

“Good evening, Yixing,” rings a voice to his right. He turns to his right to see little old lady Kim, struggling to carry her bags of garbage out the entrance of her little shop. He smiles, immediately straying from his path to rush to her aid.

“Here, ajumma,” Yixing says, softly, taking the trash bags from her hands. “Let me get this for you.”

He earns a smile from her. Sweet, grateful, wise and weathered, like all her smiles are. “What a lovely boy you are, Xing. Always helping your elders.”

“It’s nothing, ajumma,” he brushes off her praise, walking slowly enough that she can keep up with him as they turn down the alley toward the dumpster. He doesn’t like the thought of the poor old lady having to do this for herself. He heaves the bags up and into the dumpster, immediately using his newly freed hand to tuck under her arm to give her some support. 

“Our lovely Yixing. So polite and helpful, just like your grandfather once was.”

That makes Yixing smile, from the inside out. 

They arrive back at the door to her little farmer’s shop. Her eyes smile, sparkle, through the cracks and the wrinkles in the skin around them, and she reaches up to pat his cheek. Her hands are cold. 

“Be sure to drop by this weekend, my dear,” she says, pulling the door to her shop back open. “I’ve some tomatoes and some lettuce for you to have.”

“I’ll be sure to swing by,” he replies with a smile, before ducking down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good night, ajumma.”

“Good night, dear.”

The sky is completely grey, now, not a hint of pink or blush or any similar hue. It somehow makes the air feel a little colder, and Yixing quickens his pace as he pads along the sidewalk home. He does, however, stop to pet the stray cat that’s always lingering around the deli. He loves her soft orange fur and the way she always nuzzles into his palm before scampering away. He’d take her home with him if he wasn’t so certain that she loves living without an owner. She’s a visibly free little spirit. Perhaps that’s what he likes about her so much. 

The jingle of his keys, a wiggle in the lock, and he’s swinging open the door to his apartment. The heat was turned off while he was out so it’s cold, bitter, and he’s quickly tiptoeing sock-footed across the cool laminate flooring to the thermostat before he even has the lights on. He puts some water in the kettle and sets it on the burner, hums some Chinese folk songs his grandfather taught him under his breath, staring into his fridge to figure out what he wants to eat. He needs to pick up some groceries soon. His fridge is looking a little sad. 

He’s startled by the loud ringing of his telephone, as it cuts through the tranquil silence of his apartment. He laughs to himself, closing the fridge door and rushing across his apartment to where the phone sits on the end table beside the couch. The heat has finally kicked in. 

“Hello?” he answers. 

“Oh good, I caught you!” singsongs a familiar voice. Sticky and syrupy and cracked around the edges. Something inside Yixing flutters and jumps. 

“Baekhyun-ssi,” he breathes, unable to think of anything more to say. 

He hears a scoff. “Forget the formalities, Yixing, I hate it. Doesn’t suit us.”

Yixing finds it odd that he and the boy had only ever had two  _ real  _ conversations, yet apparently they already have an  _ us.  _ A dynamic that Yixing isn’t sure he’s aware of, but Baekhyun seems very attentive to. He admires it about him. His ability to just decide things for himself. To just decide whether he feels as though formalities suit them. 

“Alright, if you say so,” Yixing says with a small smile, tucking his chin into his chest and sitting down on the arm of the couch. 

“I do,” Baekhyun drawls, voice low and tantalizing. Playful. “I  _ also  _ say I should give you my address and you should come keep me company. I’m lonely, Yixing.” The pout on his lips is audible around the last sentence and it makes Yixing laugh. 

He hums, stares at his feet, thinks about it. He  _ is  _ pretty tired, though he doesn’t work until the afternoon tomorrow, as Chanyeol’s supposed to be opening. And, he figures, he’s also pretty lonely, as he glances around his quiet, empty, cold apartment. He thinks of rosy cheeks and saccharine giggles and delicate hands. He supposes that’s probably much more pleasant company than the empty spot on the other side of the couch. 

But, he decides to milk it, just to torture Baekhyun. “I don’t know,” he drones, even tapping his chin as though Baekhyun can see him. “I  _ did  _ have a pretty long day at work.”

“Pleeeeeease, Yixing,” Baekhyun says, voice raising in pitch as he so clearly tries to make himself sound even cuter and that much more irresistible. As if he needs to try. “Please, I’ll lose my fucking mind if I have to sit here all by myself all night.”

“Alright, alright,” Yixing says through a smile. He can practically hear Baekhyun deflate with relief. “Where do you live?”

Baekhyun’s grin can be heard, warping his words as he replies, “You know that laundromat across from the Sheriff’s department?” 

That makes one side of Yixing’s mouth twist up into a smirk. Small town things. “Yeah I know it.”

“I’m the apartment above it.”

The kettle on the stove whistles. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Bring alcohol!”

Yixing rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree. 

\-----

With one hand carrying a bag of snacks and alcohol from the convenience store and the other hand carrying a bag of takeout, Yixing climbs the creaky, metal, paint-chipped stairs the lead up to Baekhyun’s apartment. The lighting is dull, the walls, once white, have yellowed with age, and the groaning of the old staircase makes Yixing feel a little unsafe. It does, however, smell like fabric softener in here. 

He knocks on the door as best he can with his hands full. It’s a dull noise, the sound of old wood against his knuckles as the yellow light above him flickers. 

“It’s open!” He hears from beyond the door. 

He sighs and adjusts the bag of takeout to hang from the crook of his elbow so he can turn the doorknob. Nothing happens. “No it isn’t!”

“Oh!” Baekhyun sounds a little distracted. It’s difficult to tell, though, as muffled as he is. “The spare is on top of the door frame!”

Another sigh. Yixing reaches up to grab the key and, just like his own apartment, it needs a bit of a wiggle to work. But, before he knows it, he’s swinging the door open and putting the key back where he found it before crossing the threshold into Baekhyun’s place. 

“You know, it’s probably not the smartest idea to tell a near-stranger where your spare key is,” he says, struggling to untie his shoes at the entrance. 

“Yixing, we are certainly not strangers,” Baekhyun replies.

Yixing stands up, flushed in the cheeks from being bent over. “You know what I me-”

He cuts off mid-sentence, a little stunned by what he sees. Baekhyun’s apartment isn’t much more than a small kitchen, a few closet doors, a bathroom door, and a living/bedroom. There’s a bed against the far wall, across from a cluttered bookshelf and underneath a window that looks out at the road. There’s a futon, which Baekhyun is seated in front of, on the floor in the middle of the entire space. His apartment isn’t large, but it’s certainly not a shithole. For the most part, it’s kept clean and the paint looks fresh and the carpet looks relatively new. It smells like cigarettes and laundry detergent. But Baekhyun’s apartment itself isn’t what appalls him. 

No, it’s Baekhyun, in the middle of the floor, holding a pair of scissors, surrounded by clothing upon clothing upon clothing. 

He smiles up at Yixing, the sound of scissors cutting through fabric. “Do I smell jjajangmyeon?”

Yixing has to blink a few times. “Uh,” he says, dumbly, wandering slowly over to the kitchen to put his bags on the counter. “Yeah. I… I haven’t eaten dinner yet and figured I’d bring something over and see if you’d like some, as well.”

He busies himself unloading the bags, putting the bottles of soju in the fridge and opening up his containers of noodles. His mouth waters at the smell, he’s so hungry. A quick glance to his left tells him Baekhyun’s pursed his lips to the side, brows furrowed. He cuts a pant leg in half. 

“Nah, I’ve already eaten. Thank you, though.”

Yixing unwraps the disposable chopsticks and snaps them apart. “All good. More for me.”

It only takes a couple of steps for him to be out of the kitchen and into the living area. He stands there, just outside the chaos, container of noodles in one hand and chopsticks in the other, eating, watching on. Baekhyun just sits there, cutting apart clothes into itty bitty pieces, brows knit together and a concentrated pout on his lips. Yixing swallows his mouthful, clears his throat. 

“May I ask what all this is?”

Baekhyun sighs, puts the jeans he was working on in his lap, along with the scissors, looks around at the mess of fabric around him for what feels like an eternity. Yixing just stands there. Eats. Waits. 

Baekhyun says, “So after we hung up I went through my closet trying to find a sweater.” He picks the jeans back up.  _ Snip.  _ “I realized how many of the clothes in my closet are clothes I can’t fit into anymore.”  _ Snip. _

“So,” Yixing starts, realizes his mouth is full, swallows. “So you decide to just cut everything up, rather than donate it to a thrift store or something.”

The way Baekhyun cuts into the navy blue t-shirt he’s just grabbed is especially vicious. “I fucking hate these clothes.”

Yixing hesitates. He eats his noodles and tries to mind his own business. Baekhyun just looks a little… scattered. He’s practically vibrating in his spot on the floor, in the middle of the cacophony of fabrics and colours. He swallows his mouthful of noodles. 

“I feel as though there’s something more to this, but I’m too afraid to ask,” he says. 

Baekhyun’s mouth twists up into a small smile. “Good,” he says, using his hands to pull apart the seam on a particularly worn shirt. “Because I’m too afraid to answer.”

Yixing’s cheek digs into a dimple, a half smile forming on his mouth. He doesn’t have anything more to say, and it appears neither does Baekhyun. It’s entertaining, anyway, watching Baekhyun cut his clothes into tiny pieces, watching the way his eyes sparkle a little bit more with every snip. Like he’s slowly, slowly, freeing himself of shackles. 

Baekhyun looks up at him. Yixing quirks an eyebrow. “There’s another pair of scissors in the drawer next to the fridge.” He uses the scissors in his hand to gesture over in that direction. “Join me. It’s awfully liberating.”

“Liberating, huh?” Yixing asks, incredulous, though he’s already turned back to the kitchen and putting his near-empty container on the counter. The drawer is stuffed full with clutter. There’s unopened letters and the rubber bands that come around asparagus and twist ties and scotch tape and lighters. He grabs the scissors and returns to the living room. 

He laughs to himself, on his toes, trying to decide where to sit down. “I don’t even know where to start.”

A shirt hits him in the face. “Here,” says Baekhyun. Yixing reaches up to take the shirt off his head. It’s actually pretty nice. A nice blue and white pinstripe button down. It’s a  _ nice shirt _ and Yixing can’t even fathom wanting to cut apart this  _ perfectly good _ item of clothing. So what if it’s the wrong size? “Just cut it up, Yixing, it’s not gonna kill you.”

Yixing rolls his eyes, deciding to sit where he stands. From down here the disarray is even more overwhelming. “It’s a nice shirt, Baekhyun.”

“I wore that shirt when I was nearly twenty pounds lighter and I’ll never be able to wear it again. Cut it.”

Yixing doesn’t argue with him. Instead, he just stares, and Baekhyun stares back. His brow is set forward and his eyes are intense and he  _ burns  _ with something Yixing doesn’t understand. He knows there’s something Baekhyun isn’t telling him, something much more to this, because it’s so obviously important to him. It’s vital. Behind the determination sitting firmly in Baekhyun’s features, he’s frantic. It’s so subtle, so barely there, so perfectly masked by his strong-willed composure and his flaming, all consuming fortitude, but Yixing has always been remarkably observant. 

He looks down at the shirt. It’s so nice, a nice touch, nice seams, nice print. He likes the blue stripes and almost wants to keep it for himself, but Baekhyun is right, it’s insanely small. Yixing would have fit it when he was fourteen, maybe. 

Baekhyun huffs and it catches Yixing’s attention. They meet gazes again, and Baekhyun is pouting adorably and theatrically. Yixing can’t help but smile. 

“Please,” Baekhyun whines around his pout, sounding very much like a toddler begging for candy. “Just do this. For me?”

He even has the nerve to bat his eyelashes, and Yixing rocks back in his seat on the floor with a laugh. “Yeah, Baekhyunnie,” he says with a giggle. He looks back down at the shirt in his lap.  _ Snip.  _ “For you.”

Baekhyun barks out a celebratory sound, raising his arms above his head. He’s adorable. He’s so cute and delightful and Yixing just chuckles, takes the piece of fabric he just cut off and throws it at Baekhyun’s face. With pink cheeks and a spark in his irises Baekhyun fights back, and soon they’re just a mess of pieces of fabric, throwing swatches at each other like children having a food fight. Yixing is laughing so hard his stomach hurts. Baekhyun’s laugh is loud, unapologetic, goofy. Yixing thinks it sounds really good on him. 

They’re both winded, red in the face. No truce has been announced, but they’ve silently agreed to call it a draw and return to the actual task at hand, cutting Baekhyun’s old clothes into a disarray of shapes and shreddings. It’s a total mess, enough to give Yixing a bit of a headache just looking at it, but something in the air has significantly lifted, thinned and lightened up. He feels like he’s breathing fresh air. 

“You brought alcohol, right?” Baekhyun asks, cutting through the comfortable silence they had built between the two of them. 

Yixing blinks over at him, feeling a little lopsided at the thought that he’s so comfortable just sitting here in silence with him. This boy he barely knows. This boy who’s been this strange sort of myth since he’s known him, like fiction. “Yeah, I did.”

“Oh,  _ fuck  _ yeah!” Baekhyun hoots, tossing his head back. He unfolds himself from his spot on the area rug and begins padding his way over to the kitchen. “Fridge?”

“Fridge.”

Baekhyun looks utterly delighted as he opens the fridge, bending down to grab a couple of bottles. As he turns around to find a bottle opener he flashes Yixing a grin, and it’s wide and square and his teeth are so unfairly perfect, and Yixing just grins back, fully aware that the wattage of his grin hasn’t even a chance of comparing to Baekhyun’s. Everything about Baekhyun is a little bit dumbfounding, how vibrant he is, how complex he is, how there’s so very much of him tucked away behind the angles of his smiles and the glimmer in his eye. Yixing looks down at the landmines of fabric around him. The messes he makes. 

A bottle is held out to him. He accepts. Baekhyun clinks the necks of their bottles together. Yixing likes the sound it makes. 

“Cheers,” Baekhyun says, his mouth in a crooked little smirk. 

“Cheers,” Yixing replies, knowing very well that this evening is going to completely get away from him. He had completely planned on spending the night in bed with a cup of herbal tea and his favourite book. 

But instead, apparently, it’s to be spent here, with Baekhyun, surrounded by a disaster zone of cottons and suedes and velvets and silks. But Baekhyun’s presence is like a wildfire. It’s warm and it’s blazing and Yixing is stuck on the figurative edge, waiting for it to expand, expand, expand, until it’s out of his control. Beyond his power. There’s something all consuming about his spot, here, within the space where he can feel the energy that Baekhyun positively  _ radiates.  _ He is so full of warmth and life and there’s a buzzing of electricity roaring beneath his skin, between his ribs, rolling off the tip of his tongue and shining out the intensity of his eyes. And while the two of them are surrounded by completely unadulterated physical chaos, Yixing can’t help but feel like there’s much more pandemonium happening inside the boy sitting knee-to-knee with him. 

Yixing has bottle after bottle and the edges of his vision are blurring. He and Baekhyun cut apart innumerable articles of clothing until there’s nothing left but remnants and rags. They’ve relocated to the couch where they diminish inch after inch and now sit hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Let’s burn ‘em,” Baekhyun says. Slurs, mumbles. He’s had as much as Yixing, if not more, and the corners of his eyes have somehow drooped further, and his rosy cheeks have somehow become even rosier, his lips pink and shiny, and Yixing looks away. 

“The clothes?” He asks. “Or… what’s left of them.”

Baekhyun nods. Yixing snorts. Baekhyun burrows into Yixing’s side, wiggling up against him and Yixing can’t help but lift his arm up to wrap it around Baekhyun’s shoulders. He’s so warm to the touch, and Yixing loves the way his heart races and his stomach flutters. He could just be a little drunk. 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Yixing answers, a few beats too late. Baekhyun doesn’t comment on it. “How about we save that for a rainy day.”

Baekhyun snickers, amused at the implication that burning old clothes is an acceptable rainy-day activity. A sigh. “I don’t wanna clean it up.”

“Tomorrow’s problem.”

Baekhyun sits up, then, turns to lean into Yixing’s space and studies him, narrowed eyes and a million thoughts flashing across his features like a broken projector. He does that a lot. Studies. Calculates. Yixing wonders what he’s always thinking about. Why he feels the need to  _ see _ so  _ much. _

Yixing shoots him a look that asks  _ what?  _ Baekhyun doesn’t supply an answer. Instead, with curious eyes and a small smirk and a tentative hand, he reaches up and presses the tip of his index finger into Yixing’s cheek, right where his dimple is. It makes him smile bigger, therefore his dimple dig deeper, and Baekhyun’s looking at it with this hilariously pleased expression on his pretty face. Yixing can feel the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears heating up and turning red, but  he can’t find it in himself to care. Rather, he reaches up an index finger of his own and pokes the little freckle above Baekhyun’s upper lip. 

He’s been kind of thinking about kissing it since some time between drinks two and three. This is a safer alternative. 

Just as Yixing had, Baekhyun burns red. He swats Yixing’s hand away with an indignant noise, though there’s a silly smile on his mouth. He huffs and settles himself back into his spot against Yixing’s ribs. Yixing likes the way he feels up against him like this. 

“My lip mole is cute, thank you very much,” Baekhyun says, slurred by both the alcohol in his blood and the pout on his lips. Yixing laughs quietly at him. 

“You know,” he says, squeezing his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, “my grandfather used to say we would get a new mole for every lie we told.”

Baekhyun hums, slowly, quietly. Then he’s just quiet, breathing slowly and tucked into Yixing’s side. The silence is thick, not peaceful like earlier, instead dripping with the unsaid and the unshared. Yixing wants to ask. He doesn’t know how. 

But, Baekhyun beats him to it. He sighs, then says, “that would explain why I have so many.”

And Yixing can’t help the curiosity that occupies him and takes over him. He tilts his head to look at Baekhyun the best he can. The boy looks sad, sure, but mostly thoughtful, regretful, perhaps nostalgic. Yixing squeezes him again. 

He knows that Baekhyun is feeling loose enough in his joints and his inhibitions to open up. He knows because he feels the same way. And right now, curled up under Yixing’s arm, he looks so vulnerable and bare, bracing himself for god knows what. Yixing uses gentle fingertips to run up Baekhyun’s arm, back down, and he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that rise in his wake. And he’s quiet, so quiet, that if Baekhyun weren’t sitting so close he surely wouldn’t hear him when Yixing says, “tell me about them.”

The boy tucked comfortably under his arm sits up, turns to him, his legs practically sprawled across Yixing’s lap. He measures him up, weighs his options, and Yixing just stares back, patiently. A small smile splits Baekhyun’s lips, and he looks away from Yixing, as if looking at a thought. A thought that must please him, judging by the way his eyes spark between eyelashes and he bites at his bottom lip. 

Baekhyun points to the freckle above his lip. “This one is probably the accumulation of all the times I tried kissing girls in middle school.”

“Oh,” Yixing says, before he even realizes that his mouth is moving. It makes sense. He hadn’t even really put much thought into it, into Baekhyun’s flirtatious demeanour, into Yixing’s undeniable attraction to him and how it never even occurred to him whether or not it could be reciprocated. It makes  _ sense.  _ And since Yixing’s tongue tends to move quicker than his brain, he says, with a small smirk, “that was lying to yourself, huh?”

“You got that right,” Baekhyun huffs with a quick laugh. 

“Keep going,” Yixing says, because he can’t help but feel that he wants to know every stitch that puts Baekhyun together. 

Perhaps Baekhyun wants Yixing to know, too, because he complies. He presses the pad of his finger into his cheek, where Yixing has noticed another mole. “The time my brother punched me when I was ten. Told him it didn’t hurt.”

Yixing laughs. He’s never had siblings, but he’s had his roughhousing with cousins and other neighbourhood kids. Baekhyun shifts in his seat, laying his legs across Yixing’s thighs, a warm, comfortable weight. 

Baekhyun points to the freckle on his temple, clearly having as much fun with this as Yixing is. Drunk idiots. 

“This is for the times my  _ brain  _ has lied to  _ me.  _ Still counts right?”

Yixing giggles, despite the slight concern he feels in response to that statement. “I’m not sure how the rules work. You’d have to ask my  _ yehyeh.” _

“Shall we give him a call?” Baekhyun teases. Like this he’s so bright he’s glowing. Happy and laughing and joking around. Much better than the brooding and sorrowful boy hunched over his piano a million years ago, or even the smouldering and sly boy he keeps finding in smoking sections. 

Yixing, with a small half-smile, replies, “Unless you have a toll-free number to the afterlife, no can do.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, much like Yixing had earlier, seemingly without realizing he’s speaking at all. His eyes are wide. They’re the deepest shade of brown Yixing has ever seen. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Baekhyun is quiet, for a bit. He wrings his hands in his lap and has a difficult time looking at Yixing. Something inside Yixing tells him he needs to say something, to assure Baekhyun that he needn’t feel bad about it, that everything is truly fine, but he doesn’t have the capability to vocalize anything that may come to mind regarding the issue at hand. Instead, he reaches out, takes Baekhyun’s thumb into his hand and runs a fingertip over the mole right below his nail. 

 

“What about this one?” Because changing the subject seems like the easiest option. 

 

Baekhyun hums, thinking. His brows furrow and his lips push out into a pout. He’s cute, Yixing thinks. Painfully. 

 

“This one’s bigger than the others so it’s gotta be for a lie I’ve told a billion times,” Baekhyun ponders aloud, very quietly, like Yixing wasn’t intended to hear it. With the minimal space between them, nothing is to be kept to themselves. It’s like every thought they think can be heard in the air between them, where they’re seated far too close, where Yixing can count every eyelash that frames the galaxies in Baekhyun’s eyes and note the white marks his teeth leave in his bottom lip before they disappear, turning pink once again. 

 

“Ah,” Baekhyun says, and Yixing blinks, startled. He may be a little drunk, but he has a terrible habit of becoming entirely immersed in studying Baekhyun, piece by piece. “It’s for all the times I told foster parents I’d be home by curfew.”

 

“Oh,” Yixing, once again, says without realizing. He is learning  _ so much  _ today. And hopes this streak never ends. 

 

Baekhyun blinks up at him, corners of his mouth curled up as he presumably thinks relatively pleasant thoughts. He’s all soft. Soft edges and soft gazes. Soft hair and soft skin. Yixing realizes he still has Baekhyun’s hand in his. His fingertips are cold to the touch but there’s still something so warm about him, about the way his skin feels against Yixing’s own. He squeezes tighter, like it's some sort of test. Baekhyun squeezes back. 

 

It’s cute, the way Baekhyun quirks his head to the side like a curious puppy dog. “You don’t have very many.”

 

It takes a moment for Yixing’s mind to catch up. They’re talking about the freckles that appear when they lie. Right. Yixing smirks. “I’m a pretty honest person.”

 

“Pretty, sure,” Baekhyun says with a lilt in his tone. Yixing rolls his eyes, unable to fight the grin that pulls at his mouth. “But no one’s completely honest.”

 

The breath leaves Yixing’s lungs in a rush when Baekhyun leans even closer, pressing their intertwined hands hard into Yixing’s thigh, using his free hand to reach up and brush his thumb across Yixing’s ear, where he knows there’s a freckle. He’s so close. So close. All Yixing has to do is lean forward a few inches, tilt his head a bit, and he can have everything he wants. That’s all he has to do. If he had the gall to do so. 

 

“Well, what’s this one for?”

 

Baekhyun’s voice is barely a whisper, just a breath of air, and Yixing feels it against his skin more than he hears it. He’s so distracted he can’t think straight. Still foggy from the soju. Currently overwhelmed by everything  _ Baekhyun.  _

 

Yixing shakes his head, unable to look away from Baekhyun’s mouth. “I don’t know.”

 

Baekhyun’s mouth, which he’s so intently watching, curls up in a sly little smirk. God, Yixing wants to kiss it. “It’s from when you said you like the blond, isn’t it?”

 

Yixing averts his gaze from the pink of Baekhyun’s lips to the yellow of his hair. It’s a mop on his head, messy and tangly and bleached to the colour of wheat. The only light in the room, supplied by an old and ugly floor lamp situated behind Baekhyun makes everything more yellow to the eye, makes the ends of Baekhyun’s hair glow the warmest shade of gold, like the light is sourced from the boy himself. Yixing feels himself breathe a sigh. 

 

“No,” he says, softly, quietly, “I like the blond.”

 

Baekhyun hums, eyes narrowing in thought. Yixing looks back down at the concentrated pout on Baekhyun’s lips. “Then maybe it’s-” he halts, startled by Yixing lifting his hand to gently push his thumb into the fullness of Baekhyun’s bottom lip. Baekhyun continues, “for a lie you haven’t told yet.”

 

Yixing only hums, watching as he swipes his thumb along chapped lips. 

 

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Baekhyun asks. If Yixing weren’t watching his lips - and therefore reading them - he wouldn’t have caught it at all. 

 

“I think…” Yixing says, trails off. He’s a little tired, but he feels like he needs to say this. “I think we should kiss.”

 

Baekhyun giggles, just a puff of air that warms Yixing’s thumb, which has yet to retreat. “You really are too honest, aren’t you?”

 

“We should kiss.”

 

“And what makes you say that?”

 

Yixing is a little annoyed that Baekhyun is still talking instead of  _ kissing him _ but he looks up and meets his gaze, anyway. Yixing is a little distressed that he spent so much time looking at his mouth and not his eyes. They’re so very pretty, and they say so very much. 

 

“We’re both here,” Yixing says, stating the obvious. He catches the amused quirk of Baekhyun’s brow. “And. Vulnerable. Open and a little bit drunk.”

 

Baekhyun hums, thinking. 

 

Yixing continues, “Just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

 

“I think,” Baekhyun begins, and Yixing feels hopefulness blossom in his chest at the way Baekhyun looks down at his lips. Licks his own, and Yixing’s thumb in the process. “I think that’s exactly why we shouldn’t.”

 

Yixing drops his hand, instead connecting it to Baekhyun’s waist. “Oh?”

 

It’s subtle, Baekhyun’s nod. More like he’s confirming with himself than with Yixing. 

 

“I’m trying to make a habit of not trusting myself when I’m… what’s the word you used?”

 

“Vulnerable?”

 

Baekhyun breathes a barely audible  _ ah.  _ “Vulnerable.”

 

They still sit like that for a moment longer, much too close, Baekhyun basically in his lap and hands intertwined. Baekhyun’s hand has made its way from Yixing’s ear and into his hair, and Yixing squeezes at Baekhyun’s waist, enough where he hears Baekhyun intake a tiny gasp. They’re still close, and something draws them even closer, somehow, and Yixing thinks they still may kiss, regardless. But Baekhyun said they shouldn’t. So Yixing lets go. 

 

He doesn’t know if Baekhyun slumps from disappointment or relief. Maybe a mix of both. 

 

“You’re right,” Yixing murmurs. He realizes, now that he isn’t whispering anymore, how rough and exhausted his voice is. “Let’s not do something we may regret.” 

 

“Yeah.” Baekhyun’s voice is minuscule. He sounds awfully tired, too. 

 

It takes them a while to detangle and remove themselves from the couch, from each other. The apartment feels much colder when Yixing isn’t sharing Baekhyun’s warmth. The floor creaks beneath his feet, and a glance out the window tells him how horribly late it is. And in his state he wouldn’t even be able to drive, and-

 

“Stay the night,” Baekhyun interrupts his thoughts, unconsciously providing a solution. Yixing smiles at him, nods, follows Baekhyun as the yellow haired boy flicks off the lamp and saunters over to the bed in the far corner of the room. Without the yellowish light of the lamp, Baekhyun’s hair looks silver in the cool moonlight. Yixing, inebriated as he is, is entirely obsessed with him. 

 

They strip themselves of their jeans in silence, climb between cool sheets without a word. Yixing knows that if the two of them hadn’t been drinking, things would never be moving this fast. They barely know each other beyond their names, they would never be sharing a bed, sharing space and warmth and trust like this. They barely know each other. 

 

But, Yixing thinks, that might not be entirely true. He lays there with Baekhyun, watching with a serious set to his brow as Baekhyun curls in on himself, reaches between them to catch Yixing’s hand. Just after tonight, Yixing knows an awful lot about the boy. Beyond memorizing the shade of pink of his lips, counting the eyelashes that currently flutter against his cheeks as he slowly, carefully, allows sleep to consume him. His list of things he knows about Baekhyun is growing in size, in length. Baekhyun likes men. Baekhyun was hit by his brother when he was ten. Baekhyun’s had foster parents - Yixing wonders how many. Baekhyun has a bad relationship with his brain, a bad relationship with clothes he used to wear, a bad relationship with the decisions he makes when he’s stripped to his most vulnerable of states. 

 

Baekhyun also, apparently, makes soft whimpers in his sleep. It’s almost concerning, how helpless he looks in his sleep, whining like a pathetic puppy dog. Yixing squeezes the hand that’s folded in his own. Even in sleep, Baekhyun seems to relax. And with a slow, deep sigh, Yixing closes his eyes and decides that he should sleep, as well. 

 

\-----

 

When Yixing awakens, he is very briefly disoriented and a little bit panicked. These are not his sheets. That is not his window. This is not his bed. 

 

But then he remembers that they’re Baekhyun’s sheets, Baekhyun’s window, Baekhyun’s bed. He falls back into the mattress, a silly smile curling his lips upward, entirely content. Though he does figure he’d be even more content if the other side  of the bed wasn’t empty. At least it’s still warm. 

 

“You’re awake,” rings a pretty and welcome voice. Yixing turns his head to see Baekhyun closing the bathroom door behind him. His hair is a soft and wild mess, his skin looks dewy and pink from sleep. He’s still dressed in only his t-shirt and boxers from the night before, and Yixing positively drinks up the sight of smooth and supple legs in this all too generous lighting. 

 

“Good morning,” Yixing says, because it is a very good morning indeed. 

 

“What’s got you so chipper?” Baekhyun teases, quirking his head to the side the way Yixing loves so much. He plops down on the side of the bed, sitting right next to Yixing’s legs, looks down at him with that irrefutable brilliance of his. 

 

Yixing feels his smile grow in both size and softness. “Just nice, waking up with you.”

 

Baekhyun’s giggle is warm like the sunlight pouring in through the windowpane and sweet like the pink that colours his cheeks. “You speak as though we  _ slept _ together.”

 

“Well,” Yixing clucks, turning his head to look at the empty side of the bed, nearer to the window, “I mean we technically did.”

 

There’s no more words between them, for a bit, and Yixing turns back to look up at Baekhyun. Baekhyun, who’s looking down at him with this crooked little disbelieving smile and an infinite glint in his eye and that signature puppy-like tilt of his head. Yixing wants to ask him what he’s thinking. As always, Baekhyun beats him to it.

 

“Breakfast?”

 

“Hmmm,” Yixing thinks, then removes an arm from where it pillows his head to reach out for the fabric of Baekhyun’s t-shirt. He pinches it between his fingers, worn and weathered, gives it a little tug. “Come back to bed, first. Wanna snuggle.”

 

Baekhyun’s reaction is that of disbelief, a little bit of surprise. He releases a loud, quick, incredulous laugh, turning away from Yixing’s relentless stare to shake his head and smile at the floor. “You know, I think you’re only being this honest to prove a point.”

 

Yixing shakes his head. “No,” he says, simply. “I just want you to know what I’m thinking.”

 

Baekhyun’s smile falls into something smaller, something thoughtful. Yixing kind of adores that about him, that it’s always clear when his gears are turning. He’s readable, a book fallen open at the spine, wide open and Yixing never has to wonder for long, because Baekhyun always, somehow, shares. Seemingly besides his better judgement. 

 

“What you said last night,” Baekhyun says, sounding a little bit shy. “What you suggested. Did you mean it?”

 

Yixing allows one side of his mouth to curl up into a little smirk. He pulls a little harder at Baekhyun’s shirt. “I did.”

 

Baekhyun responds to Yixing’s insistent tugging by letting himself lean down just the subtlest amount. “Do you still mean it?”

 

“Have you changed your mind?”

 

There’s a long pause, where Baekhyun just stares back at him. Yixing waits, patiently, admiring the way the sunlight makes Baekhyun’s eyes look like molten chocolate. 

 

“I don’t exactly feel all that  _ vulnerable  _ anymore.”

 

And Yixing supposes he’s right. In the light of day, bright and vivid like this, everything is so clear, so lucid. Yixing can see clearer and think clearer, and he’s glad that neither of them got  _ entirely  _ plastered the night before, so their minds aren’t groggy and bitter with a hangover. And in the clarity of the morning, Yixing realizes he wants to kiss Baekhyun  _ all that much more.  _

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says with a smile. “Yeah, I do still mean it.”

 

Baekhyun grins, bites his lip as though that will stop it from lifting his cheeks into the softest, roundest, pinkest balls, turning his eyes into delighted little crescents. Yixing is sure he loses every ounce of air in his lungs at the sight. Turns out he’s mistaken, as when Baekhyun begins to lean the tiniest bit forward, Yixing  _ knows  _ he is knocked windless. 

 

Except, he scrunches his nose and turns his head a bit before Baekhyun can get too close. “I haven’t brushed my teeth, yet.”

 

Relief is evident on Baekhyun’s face. “I don’t think I care.”

 

“If you say so,” Yixing manages to mumble out, mostly preoccupied watching Baekhyun’s lips get closer and closer. 

 

It’s an awkward angle, with Baekhyun sitting crooked on the bed, elbow digging into the mattress, his hand resting gently on Yixing’s chest. And Yixing tries to crane his neck up as much as possible to meet him halfway, one arm folded back to pillow his head and the other still twisted into Baekhyun’s shirt. But it’s electric, vivid and vibrant, the way their lips slot together so perfectly, the way Baekhyun’s chapped lips feel against his. Heat grows in him, blossoms and spreads, burns in his fingertips and makes him curl his toes. Baekhyun is so warm, so soft, and he breathes slowly and fully against Yixing’s mouth, and something about that has Yixing humming into his skin. 

 

The sun from the window is warm, and with the warmth Baekhyun’s kiss ignites in him, he’s suffocating from where he’s tangled in the sheets. But, he only craves more warmth, licking tentatively at Baekhyun’s bottom lip and letting go of his shirt only to slip his fingers underneath it. And Baekhyun is so responsive, humming in satisfaction as he opens up to let Yixing in, turns in his seat so that he can hover properly over Yixing, tangles their legs together, even with the sheets between them. 

 

He tastes like peppermint and mornings. His skin feels like velvet, warm from the sunlight and the life within him. He hovers over Yixing with a forearm in the pillow next to his head, the hand remaining on his chest wandering, sliding up to gently rest against the base of his throat, and Yixing groans because everything about this feels so right, so good, so perfect. Both of his hands have made their way beneath Baekhyun’s shirt, exploring every divot, every inch, all the warmth he could possibly fathom. It’s still not quite enough. 

 

They part, after what feels like either milliseconds or centuries, Yixing isn’t quite sure. Baekhyun’s eyes are droopy, dopey, like he’s stuck in a haze and his eyelashes weigh a hundred pounds. Yixing decides he isn’t quite done, and surges up for one more brief, profound kiss. He sighs as he falls back into the pillow. 

 

“So,” Baekhyun says, voice groggy and distant, and it makes Yixing’s gut positively boil. “Breakfast?”

 

Something registers in Yixing’s mind, and it pains him to ask, “What time is it?”

 

Baekhyun hums, decides he hasn’t had enough either, and dips his head to mouth gently at the hollows beneath Yixing’s jaw. It makes him sigh out in the purest of pleasures, curling his fingers into Baekhyun’s back. 

 

“A little after ten,” Baekhyun replies, voice buzzing against Yixing’s skin and making him squirm as it tickles. 

 

Yixing’s sigh, this time, is from the opposite of pleasure. “I have to go.”

 

Baekhyun retaliates by deepening his kisses to Yixing’s neck, now open-mouthed and utterly  _ filthy _ . “No, you don’t.”

 

Yixing groans, from the base of his gut up into his throat. He really, really hates that he has to say, “Yeah, I do. I have to go home and shower and get everything I need for work.”

 

“Sell the shop,” Baekhyun lifts his head up to pout down at Yixing, making him laugh. “Never go into work again.”

 

“You wish.”

 

“I do.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, albeit fondly, and Baekhyun eventually rolls off of him to let him out from under the sheets. He makes quick work of finding his pants and pulling them on, deliberately ignoring Baekhyun’s disapproving murmurings.

 

He’s about to say goodbye to Baekhyun when he notices the mess of fabrics that still clutters the living area. He sighs. 

 

“Got a garbage bag?”

 

Baekhyun gets up from his seat at the edge of the bed and struts his way over to the kitchen. “What, you have time to help me clean up but no time to make out with me?”

 

Yixing laughs, bending down to start gathering the rags in his arms. “No need to be dramatic.”

 

Baekhyun returns with a black garbage bag, and together, they make quick work of gathering up the scraps of materials and stuffing them into the garbage bag. Baekhyun keeps slowing the process, however, bumping into Yixing and begging for kisses, and Yixing complies all too easily. He likes kissing Baekhyun. He likes it a whole lot. 

 

“Take this out to the dumpster?” Baekhyun asks, once they’ve finished. There’s still a bit of a mess in the area rug, the tiny pieces that need to be vacuumed up, but for the most part the place looks good as new. 

 

Yixing pushes the bag away from him as Baekhyun tries to hand it over. “No, no.” He shakes his head. “We’re saving it for a rainy day, remember?”

 

And he may as well have struck a thousand matches, if the way Baekhyun’s eyes burn bright with intrigue and excitement says anything. Yixing can’t help but reach out, place a hand on the small of his back and pull him close, so he can study those flames from a better vantage point. 

 

“I’ll call you?” Baekhyun asks, a bit of nervous uncertainty noticeable amongst the fire that licks at his gaze. 

 

Yixing smiles to himself, ducks down to press his lips into Baekhyun’s insistently, openly, honestly. “Yeah,” he says. “Please do.”

  
And then he has to pull away and close Baekhyun’s door behind him, wondering if everything that happened in that apartment  _ actually  _ happened, or was just some elaborate, incredible dream. 


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me as me posting this at 1am cause i just can't wait to get it out there.  
> Again, massive thanks to Jin (eggsootart) for taking time out of her life to help with editing and urging this fic forward, even though she's been sick the past week. What a legend.
> 
> I must warn that this chapter does entail some more sensitive content than the previous, including:  
> -Drug use  
> -Mentions of abuse  
> -Reference to eating disorders  
> -A bunch of really sad shit
> 
> So if those don't sit right with you, i wouldn't recommend you read.  
> Also, don't worry guys, i know you're only here for the porn, and yes there is that in this chapter.  
> Thanks you guys!!!

When Yixing pushes open the door and steps through the threshold, all he smells is coffee, and it makes his mouth positively water. He is so deprived of caffeine, he feels like his body is caving. It’s his own fault, really, for staying up all night songwriting, but is he really to be blamed when inspiration strikes at the most inconvenient of times?

 

Today is a Sunday, which means the shop is closed and both he and Chanyeol are off. Kyungsoo, too, never has any commitments on Sunday - really, who does anything on Sundays, anyway? Which means Sunday is the day where Yixing and his two dearest friends meet up for coffee sometime in the early afternoon, chat about their weeks, keep each other caught up, because in a little town like this and with friends this close, it’s a requirement to be as involved in each other’s lives as possible.

 

“There he is!” Calls Chanyeol from their usual table by the window. Kyungsoo is seated diagonally from him, closest to the window. At Chanyeol’s prompt, Kyungsoo turns from where he was looking out at the puddles on the road to glance over his shoulder at Yixing.

 

“You’re all wet,” he says with a frown.

 

Yixing shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair across from Chanyeol, next to Kyungsoo, where he always sits. “Yeah, well, it _is_ raining.”

 

“I don’t understand why you insist on walking everywhere when you have a perfectly functioning vehicle,” Kyungsoo says, just as the barista arrives at the table with three drinks in hand.

 

“Your mocha with whip,” she says to Chanyeol, “your double shot latte,” to Kyungsoo, “and your americano,” to Yixing.

 

Yixing frowns at his friends. “You guys got my drink for me?”

 

The barista smiles and waves a hand dismissively, “Nah, I just knew you’d be coming. You still gotta pay for it, though.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles up at her, “Thank you, Seulgi.”

 

“Sure thing!”

 

Yixing follows Seulgi back to the counter so she can put his americano through. She’s cut her bangs really short, and it’s stylish and looks great on her. She’s always been very pretty, though, and Yixing distinctly remembers everyone in high school crushing on her and her best friend, even if she was a couple years behind him. He tells her as much, that her hair looks nice, and she smiles bashfully and accepts the cash he hands to her.

 

“How’ve you been doing?” He asks, taking the change she hands him and dropping it in the tip jar.

 

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Sooyoung finally got her puppy, so the apartment’s a mess.” Yixing chuckles at her as she shakes her head as though the thought of the state of her apartment is just unbelievably appalling. “Otherwise, same old.”

 

Yixing’s smile is dimply and genuine. “Glad to hear it.”

 

He returns to his seat at the table. The cafe is relatively crowded today, townsfolk seeking warmth and solace from the downpour, nursing mugs between their palms and talking amongst each other, whether it be face-to-face or on their phones. A bunch of familiar faces. Yixing sips on his americano.

 

They jump into conversation, about this one person from out of town that came into the shop one day to buy a guitar from Chanyeol, and how strange it was for a stranger from another world to stop in on his way through town to get to the next city. It’s funny, really. No one new ever comes here. Instead, people tend to leave here, move on to supposedly “bigger things” and whatnot.

 

Yixing, on the other hand, can’t imagine wanting anything more than this cozy little town that’s become a synonym for home.

 

“Hey, Soo, how’s job-hunting going?” Chanyeol asks, a bit of whipped cream on his lip. Kyungsoo points at his own upper lip and Chanyeol gets the hint, licking the cream off his lip with a tiny blush on the tops of his cheeks.

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “There aren’t a lot of internship opportunities, around here,” he says with a sigh.

 

None of them say anything for a little while. Kyungsoo just watches the steam swirl in his mug, Chanyeol watches Kyungsoo, Yixing watches the raindrops cause ripples in the puddles on the street. He creates imaginary races between the drops that run along the window pane. None of the ones he’s rooting for win.

 

Kyungsoo says, “I’ve seen a couple internship jobs opening up in the city,” and Yixing finally looks away from the window and toward his friend. His friend who is so small, hunkered down in his seat, little square hands wrapped defensively around the red ceramic mug. Surely, Kyungsoo is only curious as to what opportunities lie outside his safety zone, the borders of their little town, where it’s safe and comfortable and familiar. Here, this town, where Kyungsoo doesn’t seem as small in comparison.

 

In the big city, hours away, Kyungsoo would appear so microscopic.

 

“That’s awesome, actually,” Chanyeol comments with a big goofy grin. “Move on to bigger, better things and all that.”

 

Kyungsoo nods but shrugs noncommittally. Yixing says nothing at all.

 

“Either way,” Kyungsoo says, pauses to sip his coffee, continues, “it’s not going to be for some time. No internships will be opening up ‘til at least the end of summer. Nothing’s set in stone.”

 

Yixing takes a long gulp of his coffee. Kyungsoo looks at him.

 

“What’s up with you, Xing? You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “Tired,” he says, because it _is_ true. He doesn’t want to tell Kyungsoo that he’s saddened by the fact that Kyungsoo may have to move on from their cozy little town, just to pursue his engineering career. That’s a conversation for another time. “Was up late last night songwriting.”

 

“It always strikes at the worst times, huh?” Chanyeol sympathizes. Yixing smiles and nods at him.

 

“Sure, and now that you mention it,” Kyungsoo drags his syllables out, just a tad, enough to imply that he’s leading up to something for which Yixing oddly feels the need to brace himself. All three of them lean forward in their seats a little bit. “I think it’s time we have that conversation we put a pin in at the wedding last weekend.”

 

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, eyes glimmering with intrigue. “Good idea.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Yixing, who was that waiter?”

 

 _Oh god,_ Yixing thinks. It’s certainly not that Yixing is a secretive person. He’s, in fact, the opposite of such. But something about Baekhyun makes him want to keep it all to himself, his own little secret, for he, and he alone, to enjoy. A puzzle for him to put together all on his own, no distractions, all the credit going to him.

 

Then again, these are his two best friends in the entire world. And Yixing has always been too honest for his own good.

 

He isn’t sure where to start, so he stalls with a sip of his coffee. “It’s an awfully long story.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles as if he knew that’s exactly what Yixing would say. “We have all afternoon.”

 

“True,” Yixing says with a small smile. He leans back in his seat, watches as he runs the pad of his thumb up and down his mug. “A few years ago, before my grandfather died and before we hired Chanyeol, he used to come into the shop every day just to play the piano for a little bit, and then go home.”

 

He pauses, furrow in his brow, continued to drink his coffee. He thinks. Thinks of grey skin and tired eyes and a defeated hunch to wide shoulders. He thinks of somber melodies and the way they would evoke a beautiful type of tragedy, a feeling of loss, within oneself. Yixing knows his friends are watching him, waiting for him to continue, so he takes a deep breath and decides to keep speaking.

 

“He seemed so sad. So sad, all the time. He was so skinny and drowned in his heavy layers and played these sad, sad songs. Played brilliantly.”

 

Chanyeol’s gaze meets his from across the table, and he sparkles with this sort of mysticism. Yixing knows exactly what that feels like.

 

“He stopped coming in,” Yixing continues, “and then four years later, by some miracle, he’s there at the bar.”

 

“So that night a couple weeks ago,” Kyungsoo says, “that was the first time you saw him in four years?”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing replies with a half-smile. When he thinks about it, it’s all really amusing. “We remembered each other. Never even got his name. I really thought I may have dreamt it all up because he came and went so quickly again, but, then your brother’s wedding happened.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head in disbelief. “What a weird world we live in.”

 

Yixing chuckles. “His name is Baekhyun, I finally learned. He’s also suddenly so healthy and full and he’s got this… this _spark.”_ He can feel himself getting carried away, just saying words as they come to his mind. He can see the amusement in his friends’ expressions, knows they’ll tease him for this. But he just needs to get this all out of his head and into the air, because he has so much to say, and only these two to say it to. “I feel like there’s still a lot I need to learn about him. He’s… complex. Has a lot for me to unlock. And I don’t know why I feel the need to figure him out so bad.”

 

Kyungsoo’s smile is sly. “Sounds like a crush to me.”

 

“Crush?” Chanyeol pipes in from across the table. Both Kyungsoo and Yixing turn to look at him, and Chanyeol looks back, blinking, frowning, looking totally confused. “I didn’t know Yixing liked dudes that way?”

 

Yixing just laughs, hearty and loud, while Kyungsoo shakes his head and leans forward in his seat in disbelief. “Chanyeol, Yixing has dated men before. Remember Taewoo?”

 

“Wait you guys were _dating?”_ Chanyeol asks, completely surprised. He blinks at Yixing a few times as things begin to fall into place for him. “Oh my god, that makes so much sense.”

 

“Yeol,” Yixing says through his mirth, “ _you_ and _I_ have kissed before.”

 

“We were teenagers and it was a dare! I didn’t think that counted!” Chanyeol attempts to defend himself. Yixing and Kyungsoo continue to laugh at him. “This answers so much.”

 

“How you’ve managed to survive twenty-three years with your observational skills, I’ll never know,” Kyungsoo says with a whimsical sigh. Then, he turns to Yixing. “So, anyway. You’re clearly into this Baekhyun guy, no?”

 

Yixing quirks an eyebrow, unable to deny such a claim. He takes another sip of his nearly empty coffee, debating how much information he wishes to disclose with his friends. The rain has let up an awful lot, the sun trying to peek through the clouds and into the window that’s still decorated with rain droplets, and it’s pretty. Sparkles. Reminds Yixing of Baekhyun’s eyes before he thinks a particularly exciting thought. He realizes, now, how easily distracted he is by the thought of Baekhyun.

 

“Have you seen him since the wedding?” Asks Kyungsoo. That’s enough invitation for Yixing to decide that, yes, he does wish to share everything with them. They’re his closest friends, after all. And it’s never difficult for Yixing to share what’s on his mind.

 

“Yeah, I went over to his place Wednesday night.”

 

“What did you guys do?” Chanyeol asks, officially caught up to speed, now. Yixing takes a moment to think, wondering just _how_ he can explain to them all the cutting and all the clothes.

 

Then again, Baekhyun hadn’t even properly explained himself, had claimed he was too afraid to. If he couldn’t explain it to Yixing, it’s likely something that shouldn’t be shared. So, he shrugs, and says, “Just hung out, had a few drinks.”

 

There’s a moment of quiet. Yixing thinks his friends might be waiting for him to continue. Just for dramatic effect, he takes the last sip of his coffee, sighs, watches the light drizzle beyond the window. His friends blink at him a few times.

 

“Yes, I spent the night. No, nothing happened.”

 

“Lame!” Shouts Chanyeol. Yixing rolls his eyes. “You’re a few drinks in with a guy you’re obviously into and what? You held hands?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Yixing answers with a shit-eating grin. Kyungsoo snorts. “And in the morning, we kissed. Just kissed. It was… nice.”

 

“Nice,” Kyungsoo drones. “Well, I hope you see him again.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“You gonna try and date him?” Chanyeol asks, eyes wide with wonderment. He’s cute sometimes, Yixing thinks. In that oversized, over excited, overly loving puppy kind of way.

 

But in response to the question, Yixing frowns. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I like him. He flirts back, too, I can’t help but feel as though the attraction is mutual, but…” he trails off, unable to put his thoughts together into something linear. He feels a little lost, honestly, when it comes to picturing a possible future with Baekhyun. The boy has been so absent and unpredictable in his life, inconsistent and a far-away fantasy. “He talks a lot, shares a lot with me, but I still can feel it, this barrier he has. I don’t think… he even _can_ date.”

 

He pauses. Neither of his friends say anything, either.

 

“Does that make sense?”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs at him. “It feels like you have a lot of things to figure out with him. But, honestly, I don’t see why he wouldn’t wanna date you.”

 

Yixing coos, leaning into Kyungsoo to poke at his ribs. Kyungsoo tried to swat his hands away. “Kyungsoo~” he teases, “I didn’t know you thought of me that way.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

And, just like that, the heaviness of the conversation has been lifted, all talk of Baekhyun forgotten. They continue on, joking around, laughing about everything and nothing as friends do—all while the sun decides to dominate the sky beyond the window, demanding the rain to stop, shining brightly and proudly overhead.

 

\-----

 

The following Friday afternoon finds Yixing lounging on the porch swing on his balcony, legs tangled with Baekhyun’s, who sits on the other end, cigarette between his lips as he laughs gutturally at the jokes Baekhyun tells, one after the other.

 

His stomach aches from laughing, and moisture pools at the corners of his eyes. It feels like everything that comes out of Baekhyun’s mouth is stupidly hilarious, and Yixing is so glad that he took Baekhyun up on his proposition to come and spend time at _his_ place, this time, just to make things even. Yixing had only a half day at the shop, which means he’s been sitting here with Baekhyun, smoking and chatting and laughing since early in the afternoon. And now, watching as the sun sinks closer to the horizon, the sky is warming into corals and pinks, a beautiful ending to a wonderful day.

 

Baekhyun has one foot on the ground, using it to swing them back and forth a little bit. It’s nice, soothing even, and Yixing sighs because it’s jarringly easy, spending time with this boy. They haven’t even talked about the kissing, let alone have they _kissed,_ not since Yixing greeted him at his doorstep, earlier today, and they haven’t really discussed anything of any _weight_ at all. Instead they’ve told funny childhood stories and laughed about bad haircuts and strange people each of them have met in their lifetime.

 

And it’s all just so _easy._ Yixing is not normally this good at conversation. Yet, he communicates with Baekhyun so remarkably well, it’s baffling.

 

“Ugh, enough about me,” Baekhyun says around a puff of smoke. “Here I am, telling you about my unhealthy obsession with Pikachu when I was nine, which, for the record, lasted much longer than what most would consider normal. Yet here you are with a probably perfectly textbook childhood-”

 

Yixing laughs. “No, please, continue.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips pulled up in amusement. “Nah. Tell me more about you.” He turns to him, bores into him with his gaze, takes a drag of his cigarette. “What’s your favourite colour?”

 

“Yellow,” Yixing replies, purposely avoiding glancing up at the yellow of Baekhyun’s hair. “No matter the shade, it’s a happy colour.”

 

The sentiment makes Baekhyun smile softly, looking down at his lap as he thinks. He turns back to the horizon ahead of them, squinting in the harsh orange sunlight, and Yixing tries to memorize the way the light hits Baekhyun’s face in all the right places. He quite literally glows.

 

“I think,” Baekhyun says, “that green might be my favourite. Sometimes blue. Red? I have such a hard time picking.”

 

Yixing hums. Baekhyun turns to him.

 

“There’s just so many colours to choose from.”

 

With a chuckle, Yixing says, “Yeah, you seem the type to have ever-changing preferences. It’s like you have a difficult time staying in one place.”

 

“Figuratively and literally.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Baekhyun hums, thoughtful but not heavy, watches the sun inch closer to the horizon, smokes his cigarette. Yixing watches him for just a moment before turning toward the sunset, himself. He huffs, glances at his wrist even though he isn’t wearing a watch.

 

He says, “Should I just order something? I don’t think I really have anything to cook for dinner.”

 

Baekhyun turns to him, blinks. Something must register in his mind, because Yixing can see the exact moment he inwardly startles. “I actually promised my best friend and his wife I’d go hang out at their place this evening. They always have food.”

 

“Is this the caterer friend?”

 

Baekhyun chuckles. “Yeah, though it’s Seungwan that’s the real brains behind the operation. Come with me, they’ll be happy to have you.”

 

Yixing ponders it, weighs his options. He doesn’t want to show up to a stranger’s place unannounced, but he _is_ being technically invited - though through a third party - and by Baekhyun as it is. He could stay home, order himself something, find a movie to put into the DVD player and enjoy the peace and quiet. Or… or he could spend more time with Baekhyun.

 

He shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Baekhyun lights up to about a million watts. “Great! Come on, it isn’t a far walk,” he says, climbing off the the porch swing and reaching a hand out to help Yixing up as well. Yixing reaches up, puts his hand in Baekhyun’s, and is glad they’ve been sitting out in the sun because his hand is so, so warm.

 

A few minutes into their walk, the sun has set, and the sky is a brilliant shade of silver, competing with the lightness of Baekhyun’s hair. Yixing walks with his eyes closed, his hands in his pockets and his face tilted up to the sky as he listens to Baekhyun talk. He talks about his friend, the one Yixing is about to meet, and it’s all fond and loving and it makes Yixing’s mouth curl up at the corners.

 

“They’re not married, yet, but they’ve been together since high school so they’re _basically_ married at this point,” Baekhyun is saying. Yixing  hums. “Jongdae is the only person who doesn’t have to deal with the baggage that crazy exes offer.”

 

Yixing chuckles a little bit. “I don’t have any crazy exes.”

 

“No?” Baekhyun asks. Yixing opens his eyes and turns to look at him. He hadn’t realized how slow and leisurely their pace was. “Never had a bad breakup?”

 

A shrug. “I’ve been in a couple relationships, but… the only one that was kind of serious was with this guy, Taewoo. He was a dancer and-”

 

“Ooh, a dancer,” Baekhyun lilts.

 

Yixing laughs, doesn’t bother to tell Baekhyun that he, technically, is as well. “Yes, a dancer, and he got this really great gig touring with some musician. We both decided it would be too much work, with him on the road, so we ended peacefully.”

 

Baekhyun is silent for a little while. Yixing kicks at the pebbles at his feet. Baekhyun intakes a breath, so Yixing makes sure to listen. “Did you love him?”

 

It’s small, but a smile is there, on Yixing’s mouth. “Yeah, I did. We were together for about a year.”

 

Baekhyun hums. “Sounds nice.”

 

“It was. He was.”

 

They walk an entire block, take a right turn, then a left, deeper into the more suburban area of their little town, where the houses are further apart and the roads are narrower. It’s quite some time, Yixing notes, before Baekhyun speaks.

 

“I’ve never dated a nice guy.”

 

And then he says nothing more.

 

It doesn’t quite sit right within Yixing, and he spends the next couple minutes of their walk trying to conjure up the right thing to say. Or anything to say, at all. But, before he can decide upon anything, Baekhyun is steering them up a driveway and cheerily announcing that they have arrived.

 

So Yixing decides to drop the subject, at least for now.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Baekhyun calls out, loudly, swinging open the front door with all the grandeur he could muster up. It makes Yixing chuckle, as it seems to be typical of Baekhyun to announce his presence so exorbitantly, demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

 

Which in this case, as Yixing notices once they walk in and kick off their shoes in the entryway, is just one girl, hunched over the island in the kitchen, not paying any attention to Baekhyun at all. Somehow that makes it even funnier, and Yixing smiles to himself as he and Baekhyun pad their way sock-footed across the laminate flooring toward where this girl is frosting cupcakes with a piping bag. It smells… _amazing_ in here. He’s suddenly aware of just how hungry he is.

 

“Hello, Baekhyunnie,” she deadpans, voice still sweet and full of fondness despite her tone. Clearly, someone who knows Baekhyun well. “Your honey is outside, actually, fixing a leak in the hose we found this morning.”

 

“Guess I’ll have to settle with you for the time being,” Baekhyun lilts, settling into a stool across the island from where the girl is working on her cupcakes. “I brought a friend with me, this evening.”

 

At that, the girl finally looks up from her frosting. She’s pretty, with her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck and the rosiness of her cheeks. And her smile, as she flashes Yixing a welcoming grin and a polite little bow, wiping a hand on her apron before offering it to Yixing to shake.

 

“I’m Seungwan,” she says, voice sweet and warm.

 

“Yixing.”

 

“Happy to have you here, Yixing. You’re right on time.” She turns back to her project, frosting the last cupcake. “I have a client a couple towns over with, like, a billion food allergies and she wants red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting for her wedding, so I tested out a couple of recipes.” She picks up one, the cupcake foil a brilliant emerald green, sticks her finger in the frosting on top of it and puts it in her mouth. “The frosting is the same for both, though. Do you know how hard it is to make cream cheese frosting without any dairy?”

 

Yixing snorts in amusement, studying the cupcakes on the counter. “So the blue foils are one recipe and the green are another?”

 

She smiles around her bite of the cupcake. “Yup. Feel free to try them and tell me what you think.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do, thank you.”

 

Yixing reaches for a blue one, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He basically _moans,_ it’s so delicious. Despite needing what sounded like a lot of alternative ingredients, it’s the most perfect cupcake Yixing has ever eaten, probably. It’s then that he notices Baekhyun hasn’t grabbed a cupcake, and is instead staring at them pensively, mouth pulled tight in thought. Yixing blinks curiously at him, cheeks full of cupcake, though Baekhyun doesn’t notice.

 

He says, “Not today, Seungwan. Thanks.”

 

She smiles sweetly at him. “Of course, Baekhyunnie. There’s homemade pizza in the oven already.”

 

“Whole grain crust?”

 

“Like always.”

 

Baekhyun’s grin is positively blinding. “You’re the actual best, lovebug.”

 

Seungwan rolls her eyes, though it’s all in good spirit. Yixing feels a little bit of whiplash, watching the exchange. He reaches for a green cupcake this time, trying to process all the things said in such a brief amount of time. The green recipe is equally as good. There’s zero chance of him making an actual decision.

 

“Something’s stinking up my house!” Calls a loud, clear voice from somewhere near the back of the house. Around the corner comes a young man, around Baekhyun’s height, and Yixing is immediately struck by how handsome he is. All sharp lines and bright eyes. “Ah, Baekhyunnie, I knew it.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Dae. Be nice to me, I have a boy to impress.”

 

This guy, who Yixing gathers is Jongdae, laughs the loudest and most enthusiastic laugh Yixing has ever heard. Yixing isn’t sure what to do, sitting up straight in his seat on the barstool, feeling a little overwhelmed by the combined level of vibrant personality between the two friends.

 

Jongdae makes his way into the kitchen, saddling up beside Seungwan, who scrunches her face and tries to elbow him, muttering something about smelling like dirt. He gives Yixing a smile, wide and brilliant like Baekhyun’s, but curly and cat-like where Baekhyun’s is boxy and angular.

 

“I’m Jongdae, Baekhyun’s personal life-ruiner.”

 

“Got that right,” Baekhyun huffs.

 

Yixing can’t help but chuckle. “I’m Yixing.”

 

Jongdae’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Ah. You’re Yixing.”

 

Yixing blinks. Baekhyun puts his face in his hands.

 

To Baekhyun, Jongdae says, “Now I see what you’re saying.” Then, to Yixing, he says, “It’s wonderful to meet you. Welcome to my humble abode! It’s only nice because Seungwan loves to watch home renovation shows.”

 

That makes Yixing laugh, fully and loudly like he had been back on his balcony with Baekhyun. Seungwan just shakes her head in exasperation, turning to check on the pizza in the oven. Baekhyun and Jongdae bicker a bit, though Yixing isn’t listening to what they’re saying. He likes this, being here. Sure, he feels a little out of place in the middle of this clearly well-oiled machine, but it’s amusing, pleasant, to watch these three interact with each other, all perfectly comfortable and quick to react, crack jokes and tease.

 

Even after Jongdae has changed out of his dirty clothes and whips together a caesar salad dressing, even after Seungwan has announced that she prefers the blue recipe and takes the pizza out to cool, Yixing can’t stop thinking about what Jongdae had said. When Jongdae had turned to Baekhyun and said, _“Now I see what you’re saying.”_ …What had he meant by that? What has Baekhyun been saying? Most importantly, are they good things or are they bad things?

 

They sit in the living room and they eat. Yixing and Baekhyun take the couch, where Baekhyun has curled his limbs beneath him like he practically owns this couch, and Yixing remains sitting upright and polite. Seungwan has the armchair, Jongdae on the floor between her knees, and all of them continue to chat. Yixing stays mostly quiet, happy to observe, until he’s prompted with questions about his job, then his shop, then where he went to high school, and other mundane things. It’s pleasant, though the conversation all feels unimportant, and he bathes in the feeling of Baekhyun’s warm and pleased smiles that fall in his direction whenever he speaks.

 

He offers to clean up, as a thank you for allowing him in as a guest. Seungwan tries to argue with him, but Jongdae shrugs and pats Seungwan’s knee kindly.

 

“It’s okay, hon, I’ll help him.” He climbs up from his seat on the floor, groaning as his joints pop and crackle. “Least we could do after you feed us so well,” he singsongs, leaning down to peck a kiss to Seungwan’s lips. She rolls her eyes, but continues to smile, and waves her hand dismissively.

 

“Fine, shoo,” she says. “I have boy gossip to discuss with Baekhyunnie.”

 

Yixing feels himself blush for reasons he can’t exactly pinpoint, himself. He and Jongdae both wander into the kitchen, hands full of dirty dishes, and Yixing tries really hard not to strain to eavesdrop on the low and excited murmurings he hears from Baekhyun and Seungwan in the living room. He practically runs into Jongdae when the latter stops in front of the sink.

 

“He practically raves about you, you know,” Jongdae says, running a plate under the tap. He taps the dishwasher with his foot. “I rinse, you load.”

 

Yixing nods, promptly shuffling over to the dishwasher without a word. He waits for Jongdae to continue. Patiently.

 

“He told me before that you’re exactly his type, but also completely different from his type.”

 

Yixing snorts. “And how does that work?”

 

Jongdae smiles, handing Yixing a rinsed plate for him to load into the dishwasher. “You _look_ like his type. The classically handsome type with the cheekbones and the eyes and the…” he trails off, using the handful of forks he just rinsed to gesture at all of Yixing.

 

Yixing laughs, shaking his head. He takes the silverware from Jongdae’s hands to get him to stop waving them around like that. “Okay, okay, so how am I different?”

 

It takes Jongdae a couple of rinsed plates to say anything. “You drink much?”

 

“Occasionally, with friends.”

 

“Thoughts on violence?”

 

“Can barely swat a fly.”

 

Jongdae reaches for the salad bowl, but stops before putting it under the tap. He stares Yixing down, not coldly, but studiously. Yixing just blinks back at him.

 

Jongdae says, “What’s your criminal record look like?”

 

Yixing says, “Nonexistent.”

 

Jongdae chuckles, rinsing the dressing and leftover lettuce from the salad bowl. He hands it to Yixing. “I’m sure you catch my drift.”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says, slowly. He lowers his voice, feeling as though Baekhyun shouldn’t hear this conversation, for some reason. “He said he’s never dated a nice guy.”

 

Jongdae sighs, covering the leftover pieces of pizza with cling-wrap. He puts them in the fridge, and Yixing just waits. It takes longer than Yixing had expected for anything more to be said. They wash the pizza pan, dry it, put it away. They start the dishwasher up, grab themselves a cupcake even though they both had some earlier. Yixing waits expectantly, anticipating what may be on Jongdae’s mind. Neither of them have turned to head back into the living room, so surely this conversation isn’t over. Yixing is just about to say something, _anything,_ but Jongdae opens his mouth before he has a chance.

 

“I swear to god, Yixing, if you hurt him…”

 

At that, Yixing’s heart sinks into the deepest pit of his gut. He isn’t entirely sure what Jongdae means. He doesn’t even know where his relationship with Baekhyun stands. They’ve only kissed that one day, haven’t even discussed it since, but it sounds like Jongdae is entrusting Yixing with Baekhyun’s happiness, Baekhyun’s _being._ And the only response Yixing could possibly accumulate amongst his many, many fragmented thoughts, barely even makes it past his lips.

 

“I… I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Jongdae’s shoulders sink with a sigh of relief. “It’s just… It’s kinda my job to look after him, I guess. And he likes you, you know. I don’t wanna see him hurt, after he’s worked this hard to fix himself from the last time.”

 

None of that makes any sense to Yixing, but he’s beginning to put together bits and pieces. Again, with Baekhyun being a puzzle. Not just his complex personality, his facades and his quirks. Also his history, the building blocks of his life that built him into who he’s become. Nothing has been explained to Yixing, offered to him. Everything he knows he’s had to put together on his own.

 

Baekhyun has clearly had a shitty past with men in his life. And judging by Jongdae’s concern, it’s been a long process recovering from it.

 

They return to the living room, then, and they visit a little longer before Baekhyun is stretching his entire body across the couch - and subsequently Yixing’s lap - and announcing that he’s ready to leave. Yixing complies, and they untangle themselves from their comfortable spots on the couch to thank their hosts and say their goodbyes.

 

As they leave, Seungwan and Jongdae both hanging out the front door, waving at them as they head down the street, Yixing decides he very much likes these two, and he’s glad Baekhyun has them. It’s dark out, now, and chillier than when they had walked over here. Just when Yixing hears their friends’ screen door slamming shut, Baekhyun shuffles over to him, into his side, looping his arm with Yixing’s. Yixing blames the cold, but he can’t help but be grateful that Baekhyun took the initiative to make contact, some sort of sign of affection.

 

Though, Yixing figures, Baekhyun is the type who pays no mind to personal space, whether romantically involved or not.

 

Baekhyun pulls a pack of smokes out of his pocket, taking one out to put between his lips. He holds the carton out to Yixing, offering one, but because Baekhyun smokes cheap cigarettes that Yixing hates the taste of, Yixing politely refuses before pulling out his own pack. Baekhyun lights both of their cigarettes, and they continue to trek on in silence, walking through dark patches, back into the light of the street lamps, then into darkness again. It’s peaceful, and Baekhyun is warm where he’s tucked against his side.

 

“So,” Baekhyun says, deep into their walk, cigarettes finished, nearly back at Yixing’s place. “What were you and Jongdae talking about?”

 

Yixing smirks, turning his head to look down at Baekhyun. The younger is looking up at him, dark irises reflecting the street lamps, and Yixing feels that familiar urge to tilt forward and capture his pout in a kiss. He, however, refrains.

 

“Hmm,” Yixing says, stalling, turning to watch the street ahead of them, “just me, mostly. You a bit.”

 

“Me a bit?”

 

Yixing flashes Baekhyun a quick smile, forcing himself not to get distracted by the way Baekhyun positively sparkles. “Just about how you apparently _like me,”_ he teases. Baekhyun giggles, bashfully hiding his face in Yixing’s shoulder. “And that I should treat you well and all that.”

 

“I’m gonna kill Jongdae.”

 

Yixing nudges him, but Baekhyun doesn’t move his face from where it’s dug into Yixing’s sleeve. “Well what about you and Seungwan, huh? What did you guys talk about?”

 

Baekhyun lifts his head, finally, to blind Yixing with his endlessly vibrant grin. “You, obviously.”

 

Yixing feels his face flush, as if he didnt expect as much. Still, he tosses his head back with a laugh before saying, “And what _about_ me, hm?”

 

“Well,” Baekhyun says, smiling sweetly at the road ahead of them. “Just about how handsome you are. And how nice you are.”

 

He looks up, then, meets Yixing’s gaze and locks in. Their walking slows, until they’re practically stopped, which is ridiculous since Yixing can see his apartment just up ahead. He feels a little stuck, though, here under Baekhyun’s stare, his cheeks and nose bitten pink with the cool wind.

 

Baekhyun says, “about how great of a kisser you are.”

 

And Yixing says, “I don’t want you to go home tonight.”

 

Whether anything happens or not, Yixing doesn’t care. All that matters is he spends as much time as possible with the boy hanging off his arm with that twinkle in his eye.

 

Baekhyun laughs, his entire face lighting up to the wattage of a million suns. Yixing just watches the way his lips pull into that rectangular smile, devastated that he isn’t kissing him right now.

 

“Always so honest,” Baekhyun says with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He looks up at Yixing in all seriousness, then, that flame behind his eyes bright and burning and unabashed. “But I don’t want me to go home, either.”

 

It’s then that Yixing realizes that they’ve completely stopped. They’re only a few steps away from Yixing’s apartment, but he can’t find it in himself to keep walking forward, not when he’s standing here, so close to Baekhyun, the air between them just barely condensing into little clouds that blend together. It’s getting warmer, but the nights are still cold, and Yixing reaches for Baekhyun’s icy fingers to entwine them with his own.

 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.

 

The response Baekhyun gives him is a distracted nod and a quiet, “Okay.”

 

This kiss is different, from that first day they kissed. It’s a little more familiar, yes, but it’s also the product of a different kind of anticipation. They’ve already had their taste of each other, how perfectly they work together, teeth and tongue and the gentle presses of their lips. The anticipation this time wasn’t about wanting to discover one another, but this time, it was a hunger for _more._

 

And _more_ is what they give each other. They kiss like their lives depend on it, mere feet away from Yixing’s building, their conjoined hands squeezing their grip on each other, their free hands mapping out waistlines and jawlines and tugging at each other’s hair. They taste the smoke behind their teeth, gasping in each other’s breath, everything they offer up to one another. Yixing sighs as Baekhyun drags his kisses down from his lips to his chin, to his throat, and in that moment Yixing decides he is officially, utterly, inarguably _addicted_ to this boy.

 

“We should,” Yixing starts, falters as Baekhyun sucks on his pulse point. “Apartment.”

 

Baekhyun dissolves into giggles, pressing his nose into the dip of Yixing’s collarbone to snicker at his wordlessness. Baekhyun lets go of Yixing’s hand, bringing both hands up to slide around Yixing’s waist with warm palms, wrapping his arms around him. Yixing can’t help but tilt his chin down to kiss the crown of Baekhyun's head, where he notices dark roots growing in. Cute.

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, voice muffled in Yixing’s chest. “Let’s go inside before we get arrested for public indecency.”

 

Somewhere between where they stood out on the sidewalk and walking through Yixing’s door, the mood dissipates notably. Yixing finds he doesn’t mind, though. He likes just visiting with Baekhyun, spending time with him. He likes how easy it is, getting along with him, without needing to be attached to one another like leeches. No matter how nice that part is, too.

 

Yixing plops himself down on the couch while Baekhyun makes his way into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door and ducking down to see what’s inside. No point in offering for him to help himself, it seems.

 

“I had a really nice time tonight,” Yixing says, watching as Baekhyun crouches to reach for what he finds. “I like Jongdae and Seungwan.”

 

Baekhyun pulls out a bottle of water, standing up straight to kick the fridge door closed and twisting the cap open. “They’re the best, huh?”

 

“The best.”

 

The couch slumps as Baekhyun frumps down right next to Yixing, hooking a knee over Yixing’s, clouding all his personal space. He’s so warm, yet he smells like the cool spring air from outside, and Yixing can’t help the gentle smile that curls his lips and softens his eyes. Baekhyun smiles back in response.

 

“I’m not that sleepy,” Baekhyun says, lips twisted into that permanent pout of his. Yixing leans forward to capture it with his lips, earns a pleased little hum. With a hint of amusement in his voice, Baekhyun murmurs against his lips, “What do you wanna do?”

 

“Hmm,” Yixing hums in thought, as if he doesn’t already know. He lifts a hand to cup the back of Baekhyun’s neck and the boy shivers at the touch of his cold fingers. “Keep kissing you.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, just a slight breath of air against Yixing’s mouth. He grins into the kiss, shifting his weight until he’s straddling one of Yixing’s thighs, both of his hands cupped around Yixing’s jaw. Yixing doesn’t think he’s ever been in a better place in his life.

 

“I think that can be arranged,” Baekhyun says, before kissing Yixing into a puddle of goo.

 

It’s perfect, Yixing thinks. It’s stupidly perfect, the way Baekhyun feels wrapped around him, their mouths slotted together, Baekhyun’s tongue exploring the backs of Yixing’s teeth and the ridges in the roof of his mouth, making his belly curl and churn and twist with excitement and pleasure. He’ll never tire of this, he’s sure. He’ll never tire of having Baekhyun like this, where they’re both vulnerable and open and willing to share everything with one another.

 

Like this, Baekhyun is less of a mystery, and more of a wide open book, for Yixing to flip through the pages as he pleases and take away what he will.

 

 _“God,”_ Baekhyun sighs against Yixing’s mouth, sending jolts of heat throughout his veins, to the pit of his stomach. He digs his fingers into Baekhyun’s sides, gripping onto him as though if he were to let go, Baekhyun would vanish. But even though Baekhyun is still warm through the fabric of his shirt, it’s just not enough.

 

His hands relocate to Baekhyun’s shirt buttons, blindly fumbling with the buttons until they begin to pop free one by one. Their kisses are getting sloppy, verging on pure desperation, and Yixing feels completely intoxicated, submerged so deep there isn’t a chance of kicking up to the surface.

 

“Jesus _fuck,_ I can’t believe this is happening,” Baekhyun says, breathless, warped around their unyielding kisses. Yixing just hums in response, teetering on a moan, especially since Baekhyun shifts again so he’s across his entire lap, thighs bracketing hips, as connected as they could possibly be. “God, I’ve wanted this so bad.”

 

“Me too,” Yixing says, mind completely absent from his body. He tilts his head, trailing his kisses down to Baekhyun’s neck, and the younger flinches away.

 

“Not the neck,” he says, voice shaky and breathless and nearly inaudible. “It’s not- just not the neck.”

 

Yixing pulls back, looks up at Baekhyun, curious. The boy in his lap looks down at him, eyes darkened with lust but darkened with something else as well. And in that moment, he looks startlingly like that boy from four years ago, the boy who played the piano. Yixing tries to ignore the shiver in the base of his spine.

 

“Okay,” Yixing says. Most of Baekhyun’s shirt is open at this point, so he dives forward, kissing eagerly against Baekhyun’s sternum, dragging heat across the skin of his chest. “How’s this?”

 

Baekhyun’s throat releases the sweetest of noises, a cross between a sigh and a whimper, his fingers curling greedily in Yixing’s hair. “Good,” he says, breathes. “Perfect.”

 

Together, they get Baekhyun’s shirt undone and pushed off his shoulders to fall unceremoniously onto the floor. Baekhyun urges Yixing to sit up, dragging his shirt up his torso and over his head where it follows suit and finds the floor. Yixing tries to remind himself to breathe, to take his time, because here Baekhyun is, with so much exposed skin, flushed and kiss-drunk and winded in his lap. And he’s so astoundingly beautiful, all curved lines and soft skin. He can’t help but reach out and touch, reverently, zealously running his palms against the soft skin of Baekhyun’s torso as his eyes follow.

 

Baekhyun, above him, blushes furiously. “Stop,” he whispers, bashful and embarrassed.

 

Yixing leans forward, latching onto Baekhyun’s collarbone with his lips. “But look at you,” he breathes, inching his lips down to Baekhyun’s nipple, wrapping his lips over the bud and rolling his tongue around it.

 

Through his moan, Baekhyun giggles, giddy and embarrassed and it’s frustratingly cute, that he’s so self conscious like this. Especially when Yixing sees absolutely no reason for insecurity.

 

“How are you even real?” Baekhyun says, whispers, head tilted back toward the ceiling. Yixing thinks that the question wasn’t exactly directed toward him.

 

The heat between them escalates. Their kisses are voracious, their hands feverish. They continue to press into one another, further and further, until Yixing fears their flesh might fuse until they become just one. Baekhyun rocks, writhes in his lap, the friction delicious and only making the two of them spiral further into this whirlpool of craving and desperation, Baekhyun’s hands trembling where they dig into Yixing’s shoulders and Yixing struggles to catch his breath which has long outrun him.

 

“Fuck,” Yixing breathes as Baekhyun’s hand deliberately drags from his chest down his abdomen, to the buckle of his belt. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_

 

Baekhyun chuckles into the juncture of Yixing’s neck and shoulder, hoarse and deep and absolute torture. “Why is it so sexy when you curse?”

 

“Perhaps you just think I’m sexy in general?” Yixing teases back, acting as though he isn’t entirely delirious with the anticipation as Baekhyun blindly undoes Yixing’s belt with enthusiasm.

 

Baekhyun laughs, lifting his head so Yixing can see his smile, so brilliant and bright, so beautiful it’s distressing. “You have a point.”

 

He doesn’t even have time to think of a retort, as immediately after Baekhyun finishes his sentence, he opens the zipper of Yixing’s jeans and digs his hand into his underwear, and all Yixing can do is let his head flop uselessly against the back of the couch and groan out all the pleasure that’s overflowing within him. He’s useless, breathing like he’s run a marathon as Baekhyun wraps those gorgeous fingers around him and tugs, over and over, looking far too pleased with himself as he melts Yixing down into absolute putty beneath him.

 

Their gazes meet, as Yixing lifts his head back up to look at Baekhyun, and Yixing can feel the electric shock simmer across his skin and make his hairs stand on end. The light pouring in from the kitchen illuminates the side of Baekhyun’s face, casting harsh and beautiful shadows, and Yixing cannot look away. Not even as he forces his hands to be useful and works at Baekhyun’s fly in return.

 

Baekhyun surges forward again, connecting their mouths with fervour and conviction as Yixing frees Baekhyun’s cock from his jeans and tries to meet Baekhyun’s enthusiasm with the pumps of his hand. It’s a little dry but it’s better than nothing, and Yixing cannot possibly imagine stopping right now, anyway. Not with how he and Baekhyun have practically melted into one, kissing the breath out of each other’s shallow lungs, hands between them as they pant and moan and urge each other toward the edge.

 

“Fuck, _fuck, Yixing,”_ drips from Baekhyun’s lips like gospel, sending shivers that feel like flames down Yixing’s spine. He twists his hand on the upstroke, rocks up into Baekhyun’s fist, does anything to get more noise out of Baekhyun. Especially with the way his name sounds, curled like steam around Baekhyun’s ecstasy.

 

“Come on, Baek,” Yixing sighs into Baekhyun’s hair, the latter having given up on kissing and buried his face into Yixing’s shoulder, both shuddering and shaking as they race to the finish, competitive but still fluid as a team. “Come on, baby.”

 

Baekhyun’s shoulders shiver, a shattered whimper bleeding from his lips and into Yixing’s skin. “Xing,” he says, _pleads._

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says around a groan. “Yeah, I’m close too.”

 

 _“Christ,_ I- god, _fuck-”_

 

Yixing can’t help but chuckle through the haze he’s in. “Me too.”

 

He yelps, a delightful sting of pain sinking into his shoulder along with Baekhyun’s teeth as the boy above him shakes through his release. His hand falters all movement as the bands inside him snap and the tension releases, and Yixing just hushes him through it. He strokes Baekhyun’s hair back with the hand that isn’t lethargically pumping Baekhyun’s dick, now sticky with come like their bellies between them.

 

It doesn’t take Baekhyun long to recover, sitting up enough to lock Yixing in with an intense gaze for just a fraction of a second before swallowing him in a kiss, returning to his task of getting Yixing off, fully, quickly, achingly.

 

He moans, long and loud, as every muscle in his body diffuses with his release. Baekhyun doesn’t stop kissing him. Not after the white sparks have long vanished from the corners of his vision. Not after they’ve both let go of each other, both oversensitive and vibrating with it. Baekhyun keeps kissing Yixing until they grow uncomfortable with the come drying on their skin.

 

As he tries to pull away, Baekhyun chases his mouth. He laughs, completely endeared, nudging Baekhyun’s nose with his own. “We should clean up.”

 

“God, I haven’t gotten laid in so long,” is Baekhyun’s response. Yixing tosses his head back with loud laughter, and when he tilts his head back up it’s to see Baekhyun smiling at him with this pleased little glimmer in his eye. “Doesn’t help that you’re so hot I’ve been literally dying to get near your dick since I ran into you back at the bar that one night.”

 

Yixing gives him a close-lipped, bemused smile. He doesn’t bother to tell Baekhyun he’s been _kind of_ in the same boat.

 

A post-orgasm Baekhyun is an impossibly clingy Baekhyun, apparently. He makes it really difficult for Yixing to wipe themselves clean, shed their soiled pants and undies, and get ready for bed. He clings to Yixing, begging for kisses, and Yixing always - _always_ \- complies.

 

Even curled up under the sheets, long after Baekhyun has fallen victim to slumber, he clings to Yixing, all warm skin and steady breaths and quiet whimpers. And Yixing lays there, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall, the way eyelashes flutter against pale cheeks, wondering what it was that broke Baekhyun so bad in the first place.

 

And how difficult - or maybe easy - it might be for Yixing to shatter him all over again.

 

\-----

 

Yixing wakes to an empty bed.

 

That’s twice, now, that Yixing has fallen asleep beside Baekhyun and woken up disoriented. He pouts, rolls over and tucks a spare pillow under his belly to hug it tightly. He’s sleepy, still, and when he was rising from his slumber he had hoped to find Baekhyun there, so he can curl up around him and fall back asleep. But, alas, he’s alone in his bed, not even sleeping on his preferred side, clinging to a pillow as consolation.

 

His eyelids become heavy, and he’s just on the verge of drifting off again when he hears a clatter from the kitchen.

 

“Motherf-” he hears Baekhyun hiss, making the corners of his lips curl up in amusement.

 

It’s a great internal debate, battling between staying in his warm bed to fall back asleep or to venture out into the kitchen to find - and, by the sounds of it, rescue - Baekhyun. His bed is so very comfortable, but also, there’s _Baekhyun._ Both incredibly tempting options indeed.

 

And he’s taking so long to decide that the former begins to win over, his eyelids sinking closed on their own accord, when he hears another bang and curse from the kitchen.

 

After - slowly, clumsily - climbing out of bed, Yixing pads his way over to the kitchen. He rubs his tired eyes with his knuckles, bare feet against the cool floors, and he wonders what time it is. Presumably early, as Yixing is naturally an early riser, and even at that he feels achingly groggy. Like half of him is still curled up in bed, dreaming away.

 

When he reaches the kitchen, he stops just before the island that separates it from the living room. Baekhyun hasn’t noticed his arrival, yet, as his back is turned to Yixing as he fusses with the coffeemaker on the counter, murmuring under his breath. He’s wearing one of Yixing’s own t-shirts, the fabric pulled snugly across Baekhyun’s broad shoulders, and it’s then that Yixing realizes just how large Baekhyun wears his clothes. Usually his body is disguised by loose and layered fabric. Yixing likes this, when he can see the curves of Baekhyun's waist through the thin, grey fabric of his shirt, his legs bare up to where the hem of his boxers meets his thighs.

 

He’s kinda perfect, Yixing thinks.

 

“Hey,” Yixing says with a small yawn.

 

Baekhyun vibrates, startled, and it makes Yixing laugh. “Don’t do that,” Baekhyun scolds with an embarrassed smile, turning around to face Yixing. The shirt pulls tight across his tummy, fully displaying where he’s round and soft, the front of his belly and the sides of his hips, and Yixing bites his bottom lip to keep himself from grinning the most smitten grin possible.

 

“What’s with all the ruckus?” Yixing teases, looking back up to Baekhyun’s face. His cheeks are rosy and his hair is a mess and he looks so soft and cute in every possible way, Yixing just wants to squeeze him.

 

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

 

It’s said with a pout, in typical Baekhyun fashion, like he’s disappointed he’s been found out. It makes Yixing smile, leaning his elbows against the countertop of the island, his cheek in his hand. Baekhyun gives him a funny look, as if to ask what he’s looking at him like that for, before turning back to where he was chopping up vegetables. Yixing watches his back, the taut fabric across his shoulders, the bands around the hem of his underwear digging into the soft skin of his thighs, the bed hair sticking up at hilarious angles at the back of his head.

 

“Why did you wanna surprise me with breakfast?” Yixing asks, though he certainly doesn’t mind at all.

 

Baekhyun glances at him over his shoulder, a hint of a blush on the tips of his ears. “Wanted to thank you.”

 

“For giving you an orgasm?” Yixing asks, incredulous furrow in his brow.

 

Baekhyun laughs so hard he slams his palm against the countertop. “No, you weirdo! For letting me stay here and being nice and stuff.”

 

Yixing laughs, just softly, rounding the island to fit himself against Baekhyun’s back, hands on wide hips. He revels in the way it makes the tops of Baekhyun’s cheeks burn red, and he tilts his head down to plant a kiss there. Baekhyun’s bashful little tight-lipped grin is too cute for Yixing’s poor heart to handle.

 

“So, what’s for breakfast?”

 

Baekhyun cracks a fifth egg into the bowl in front of him, grabbing a fork to start scrambling it all together. “Veggie omelettes,” he announces, proudly. “Egg is the purest protein, and with veggies in it we get all the nutrients we need without any unnecessary fats or carbs or calories.”

 

Yixing hums, resting his chin on Baekhyun’s shoulder and watching as he scrapes all the chopped veggies off the cutting board and into the eggs. “Sounds delicious.”

 

“Delicious and nutritious.”

 

Yixing giggles, twisting his face to press a kiss to Baekhyun’s ear before backing off. He wanders over to the stove to begin heating up a frying pan. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows how to cook.”

 

“Had to learn to,” Baekhyun says. “Otherwise I’d be taking horrible care of myself.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Together, they cook, and then they eat. They sit together at the island, Yixing sipping the coffee Baekhyun had brewed for him, Baekhyun sipping the orange juice he’d poured into a glass. They chat, laugh amicably with mouthfuls of omelette, enjoying a quiet morning together, the bright sunlight pooling into the apartment through sheer white curtains.

 

“Tell me, Baekhyun,” Yixing says, gulping down his coffee that has cooled to that comfortably warm temperature. Just cool enough he doesn’t have to sip slowly in an effort not to burn his throat. “How can Jongdae and Seungwan afford a nice little house like that in their early twenties?”

 

Baekhyun nods, thoughtful. “Since we were kids, Jongdae has worked. Work and save, work and save.” He takes another mouthful of omelette, chews it slowly, eyes watching something distant, like a memory instead of an object. “He dropped out of high school and started selling his labour when we were like? Seventeen?”

 

Yixing hums, registering the information.

 

“His dad encouraged it, ya know, said he’d done the same thing. As all men do in the area we grew up in, I guess.”

 

Yixing makes a sound of understanding. “The east side of the tracks?”

 

Baekhyun nods.

 

Yixing chews on his breakfast, contemplatively. Even in a little town like their own, where no one is particularly rich, and no one is particularly poor, there’s still a separation of classes. Especially in the more residential area of their city, there are two different types of neighbourhoods to live in. Yixing and his cousins and his friends grew up on the west side of the railroad tracks, where families peacefully made ends meet, drove generic cars to nine-to-five jobs or their kids to public schools. The east side of the tracks, however, is a little bit rougher. It’s not exactly poorer, but it’s more dangerous, more populated by the more violent or the more sketchy of people.

 

When Yixing was a child, his mother forbade him from ever crossing the tracks.

 

“So, yeah, he worked, lived at home. The only money he ever spent was taking Seungwan out on dates,” Baekhyun continues, smiling to himself. “They started up their catering business and are living comfortably.”

 

“That’s nice.”

 

“It is,” Baekhyun agrees. “And he took some online courses and got his diploma a couple years ago, too.”

 

Yixing nods around a mouthful of coffee. “And how about you?”

 

“I actually managed to graduate,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes, “by the skin of my nose, no less. First in my family, though!”

 

Yixing frowns, chewing, thinking. “Your brother?”

 

“Nope,” Baekhyun says, punctuating through a huge mouthful of omelette.

 

“What’s he up to, then?”

 

Completely nonchalantly, with no sign of any issue whatsoever, Baekhyun replies, “He’s in prison.”

 

Yixing halts his chewing, a little taken aback by how casually Baekhyun had spoken, wonders if he just misheard him. He waits a little longer, finishes his breakfast, pours himself another cup of coffee.

 

Baekhyun decides to continue, “He was involved in this drug ring, or whatever.” He pauses to gesture vaguely and exasperatedly. “Always up to no good. Ended up getting arrested for theft or something. I dunno. Haven’t spoken to him since, like, a few months before he even got arrested.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Yixing says, because it’s all he could think to say.

 

A shrug. “It’s fine. I had cut a lot of bad people out of my life. He was one of them.”

 

Yixing hums his acknowledgement, chews slowly, thoughtfully. He thinks about the family and the people he grew up around, how comfortable and easy his life had been. Unlike Baekhyun, he had no siblings, but he had his cousin Lu Han - who has since moved to China, where their family is from - and everything was so… peaceful. Always has been. He can’t even begin to imagine the kind of conflicts Baekhyun had faced growing up, between foster homes and rough neighbourhoods and a criminal for an older brother.

 

It kind of puts him in a whole new light. And as Yixing looks at him, studies the lines of his face and the way his yellow hair absorbs the light from the window and the subtle sag in his shoulders, he can see how perfectly and meticulously crafted his persona is. His bubbly attitude and his flirtatious quips and his boisterous laugh. It must have taken him a lot of time and a lot of work to become what he is today. To evolve so much since he was the nameless and lifeless boy who played the piano.

 

“I don’t work today,” Yixing says, turning away from Baekhyun to stare into his mug. “At least not until I have to go in this evening to do some bookkeeping and stuff. Did you want to just hang here today?”

 

Baekhyun smiles, eyes gentle and soft, but he says, “No,” with an equally gentle and soft voice. “As much as I’d love to, I made plans with my friend Junmyeon today. Also, my meds are at home.”

 

“Meds?” Yixing asks with a frown, collecting their empty dishes and bringing them to the sink. “What are you taking medication for?”

 

Baekhyun taps his temple with two fingertips. “For my brain.”

 

Yixing just nods, wipes his hands dry on the towel hanging from the oven handle. If there’s one thing he can admire about Baekhyun, it’s his ability to achieve total nonchalance, especially when sharing something others may be embarrassed to discuss. Yixing knows from experience, most people tend to tiptoe around the issue of mental health. Like when Kyungsoo was prescribed medication for his panic attacks, and was ashamed to admit it to even his best friend, even if all Yixing did was pat his back and tell him he was glad he’s doing something to maintain it.

 

Yixing, at least, knows there’s no benefit whatsoever in keeping secrets.

 

Baekhyun climbs out of his seat, wanders over to where Yixing is standing and presses himself into his space. It’s reflex, to reach out and put a hand on Baekhyun’s waist.

 

“I’m gonna get dressed and head out,” Baekhyun says, tilting his chin up to press a kiss into Yixing's mouth. “Call me?”

 

“Unless you beat me to it,” Yixing replies, giving Baekhyun another kiss before watching him turn around and head into the bedroom where his clothes await him. Yixing leans back against the counter, melts into a sigh. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath the second Baekhyun stepped close.

 

Something about Baekhyun makes him feel like he’s constantly struggling for breath. But in the fun, exhilarating, exciting way. Like the time and space between jumping from a plane and opening the parachute.

 

\-----

 

Yixing sits on his balcony, with a second cup of coffee and a cigarette, and watches the beautiful morning turn into a beautiful day. The sun is shining bright, warm on his skin, and Yixing thinks today is a perfect day to make the little hike he hasn’t made in a little while.

 

He takes his time, pulls on his shoes and laces them tight. He shrugs on a light jacket, just enough to protect him from the damp breezes that come along with spring, and heads out, pocketing his keys. Not before jiggling the lock a bit, to ensure his door’s secure.

 

This time of year is pleasant and good, in Yixing’s opinion. He loves the heart of springtime, when trees are budding and tulips blossom, the sun warm but the wind cold. Unfortunately, his destination is too far for a walk, so he climbs into the rusty old pickup truck he was given a long, long time ago, and starts up the engine with a twist of his wrist and his foot down on the clutch.

 

The windows stay down on his drive, the radio in his truck having been broken for ages, so he just listens to the music of his thoughts. As he should, and always does, when he makes this brief drive. He has plenty to ponder on, to brew and to contemplate, before he arrives to where he needs to be.

 

This graveyard, just on the western outskirts of the city, is large, framed and spotted with beautiful, lively trees and gardens. Yixing has always enjoyed the juxtaposition of the dead amongst such life and splendour. It’s a strange, slightly cynical celebration of the life that once was, he thinks, and it always makes one side of his mouth twitch up in amusement. The world is a funny little place.

 

There’s a trail to his left that takes you through the trees, the little forest, up to the top of the little hill that overlooks the rest of the site, the little river just beyond, and the neighbourhoods beyond that. This walk is always peaceful. It is quiet, beautiful, the ground at Yixing’s feet painted and coloured in shadows from the trees and sunlight from above. Somewhere, distantly, a bird chirps into the breeze that carries the sound, and Yixing, for some reason, thinks about the songs Baekhyun used to play what feels like eons ago.

 

The hike is never long, never extraneous or tiring, and he reaches the top of the hill in no time at all, breathing the fresh air all around him and closing his eyes to see the way the sunlight makes the backs of his eyelids glow orange. It’s peaceful up here, serene and quiet, the perfect place to think, to contemplate, and sometimes, to express.

 

His grandparent’s tombstone is beautiful in all its simplicity. A simple gray stone, engraved with their names and the dates they entered and left the planet. It was his grandfather’s wish, that he be buried with his beloved, late wife, and it always fills Yixing with a sense of satisfaction that even beyond his years of existence, his grandfather continues to get what he wants.

 

He reaches out, drags his fingertip through the engraved indents in the shape of a tree - strong and beautiful, with long, seemingly endless roots that wind down between his grandparents’ names and along the sides. It’s a beautiful, intricate, simple and profound design. It always sparks an indecipherable emotion somewhere within Yixing, and it always leaves him feeling something close to thoughtful, reflective. Perhaps a tad nostalgic.

 

“Hello, _yehyeh.”_

 

Birds chirp in place of his grandfather’s response.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been up to visit in a while. I’ve been busy, lately,” he says, eyes lingering on the winding carved out roots of the tree. He decides to take a seat, crossing his legs beneath him where he sits in the grass. A few of the perennial flowers have sprouted around the tombstone. Yixing makes note to return with more planters sometime soon.

 

“She’s doing well, your shop. Good as ever.”

 

The breeze that tickles Yixing’s cheeks, tosses his hair about across his forehead, is warm and gentle. Yixing peers beyond the stone and watches the river below the hill. A steady and calm stream, trickling around their humble town, like a shield from the world around it. The sunlight hits the surface of the water in a pattern of endlessly moving shimmers and sparks. It’s soothing. Centering.

 

“I met - or, really, rediscovered this boy. He’s partially why I’ve been so busy.”

 

Yixing sighs.

 

“You remember him, right? That boy who used to come in and play the piano? He’s grown, now. Fuller and brighter and better, but… still as fragile and hollow as he seemed to be, before. It’s like he’s just got better at masking it.”

 

There’s a long pause, where Yixing sits and frowns against the sunlight, thoughts flowing briskly and steadily like the river down below. He wonders where the river leads. Where his thoughts may lead.

 

He says, “He intrigues me, somehow. Beyond just in the sense of getting to know him but… he’s just…” Yixing trails off. He digs his fingers into the grass beneath his ankles. “He’s this— precarious balance between something old and new, and I’m just. I’m just curious, I guess.”

 

His grandfather always advised him to chase his curiosity. The old man was convinced that without curiosity one would never discover something new, and one would never grow into something great.

 

“He doesn’t play the piano anymore,” Yixing says. “I think that’s really sad.”

 

Somewhere, not too far away, a bird takes off from where it was perched. The sound of the wings beating against gravity shocks Yixing out of his strange mind space and back into the nature and the sunlight around him. He falls back, laying in the grass, and stares up at full white clouds against bright blue sky. There are shapes, certainly, and somehow Yixing can’t quite decipher them.

 

He continues to fill his grandfather in on what’s been on his mind, but he says none of the rest aloud. Instead he allows his train of thought to run its course, like the border of water around his charming, perfect small town, and loses track of the linear pattern in which his thoughts arrive. Instead, it all becomes scattered, thoughts of Kyungsoo and his possible future away from home, of Baekhyun and the pinkness of his round cheeks, of his mother who he hasn’t seen in a little while. Perhaps he should pay her a visit sometime soon.

 

Mostly, he thinks of his little music store. His grandfather’s last love and Yixing’s very first. He thinks of all the people that have come and gone from it- like Baekhyun. And amongst all the things that come and go, there will always be one thing that remains the same: the grand piano in the center of the store.

 

Well, perhaps two entirely static things, if you include Yixing.

 

The clouds drift across the sky, the wind carrying them slowly around the world, and Yixing watches them go. He wonders of all the things that clouds have seen, far above the earth, endlessly travelling. Then there are the clouds that decide where they want to stay, and rain down onto the land below them.

 

Yixing wonders which cloud he is, and which cloud Baekhyun is. Does Baekhyun rain down on the place he loves most, or does he float away to never be found again? Yixing, really, was never a cloud at all. He didn’t have to see his place from far above to decide this is where he, ultimately, will remain forever.

 

With that thought, he sits up from his comfy bed of grass, unfolds himself, groaning as his joints pop as he straightens up. He stretches his arms above his head, exhaling loudly through his nose, and he drops a hand to lay flat against the tree carved out of stone, and whispers a quiet _goodbye._

 

He takes a little longer on the walk down, through the graveyard and back to his truck, and he hesitates, slightly, before turning the key and bringing the vehicle to life. He’s been longer than he had thought, the clock in his dashboard glowing a dim, green, 4:37, the sun sinking considerably further to the west than it was when he arrived. It’s amazing, how time flies, when you seemingly depart from the rest of the world and are left alone with only the trees, your thoughts, and the people you miss the most.

 

The drive home is just as quiet as the drive there. Perhaps even moreso, as Yixing finds himself feeling a little distant, a little dreamy. Like part of him was left up on the top of that hill. He always feels this way after his pays his grandparents a visit. But it isn’t exactly unpleasant.

 

He has a quiet evening in his apartment. He eats a quick dinner, plucks at his guitar a little bit, then glances at the clock and decides it’s a good time to head into town to do what needs done at the shop. It’s tedious, the paperwork that needs to be done at the beginning of every month, but it’s what keeps his shop alive and well.

 

After a lovely walk into town, Yixing arrives at the shop just as Chanyeol is starting to close up. He’s busy dusting a shelf of music books when the door chimes with Yixing’s arrival and he glances over his shoulder to flash Yixing his signature grin.

 

“Evening, boss.”

 

“Hey, Yeol,” Yixing says with a small smile. “How’d it go today?”

 

Chanyeol lights up, finishing that shelf and moving on to the next. “Great! Convinced someone to invest in a drum kit today, they kind of wanted to learn but were unsure. Told them that, _hey, it’s always worth a shot to try something new,_ ya know? They were really nice!”

 

Yixing shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he heads to the back office. “Must be tiring to be so excited about everything like you are, Chanyeol.”

 

Chanyeol just shrugs, lopsided grin on display. Yixing heads into the office and closes the door behind him. He can hear Chanyeol singing to himself as he finishes closing up from beyond the door.

 

\-----

 

The sun has set by the time he leaves the shop.

 

The sky is that timid, in-between silver, and Yixing can hear the sounds of mothers calling their children in for the night. It reminds him of his childhood, running around the streets of his neighbourhood with his cousin and his friends, playing until the sun’s gone down and his mother is calling for him from their front porch.

 

Such simple times they were.

 

To his right, yellow lights seep into the silver atmosphere from Ms. Kim’s shop windows. It looks warm, inviting, and Yixing figures he hasn’t paid Old Ms. Kim a visit in far too long. He wanders up to the door and knocks gently on the glass, making sure to pull his sleeve over his knuckles so he doesn’t smudge the window.

 

Ms. Kim turns around from where she’s hunched over a display of apples, mouth open as though to announce that they’re closed, but her face melts into a sweet smile at the sight of Yixing standing at her door. He waves, smiling brightly, as she waddles her way over to the door to unlock it and let him in.

 

“Yixing, sweetheart,” she says, voice gentle and warm, “how nice it is to see you.”

 

“Just thought I’d stop by, ajumma.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss to her cheek. “Did you need any help?”

 

The old lady clicks her tongue, waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, silly old me got caught up talking to my granddaughter on the phone, so I’m running a little behind. I’ll manage just fine, though.”

 

“No, no, I insist,” Yixing says with an earnest shake of his head. “I’d be happy to help.”

 

“I could never ask you to work for free.”

 

“How about you pay me in the form of an armful of fresh veggies?”

 

Old lady Kim smiles, kind eyes warm and sweet behind years worth of wrinkles and wearing. Yixing is sure, at one time, Ms. Kim was the loveliest young woman in town.

 

“Sounds like a fair deal to me,” she says. She turns back to the fruit she was reorganizing, mutters to herself, “you kind, kind boy.”

 

Yixing chuckles, gets to work putting produce in the refrigerated room in the back and covering those that can stay out. They work quietly, save for some small talk, and it’s pleasant. He likes her, very much. She’s such a permanent presence in his city that’s losing people at such an exponential pace. She never changes. She’s always been the same sweet, soft-spoken old lady since Yixing was the height of her hips.

 

They finish up together, Yixing bringing the trash out to the bin and returning to see Ms. Kim filling a plastic bag with produce for Yixing to take home. He steps up next to her, accepts the bag being handed to him with a smile. She grabs a peach off the shelf, holds it up to him.

 

“For the road,” she says, lips pulled tight in a little grin.

 

He beams back, accepts the peach and buffs it on the front of his shirt. “My favourite.”

 

They depart, once she locks the door. Both of them headed their separate ways. He takes a bite of his peach, juicy and sweet and delectable, and begins to hum a little tune. The melody is new, and seems to be appearing out of nowhere, and it continues and expands as he advances on his journey home. He stops to scritch his favourite stray kitty behind her ears. He waves at the neighbours along the way. The Lee’s and their bookstore, Joohyun and the library she runs, all the little shop and restaurant and community center owners who all lock up and head home at this time of night.

 

His happy, sweet, close community, that he loves so very much.

 

And when he gets home, he pulls out his guitar, and allows that melody to drag him by the hand into a long, long night of putting sounds and words together into song.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun is very busy. Very. Very. Busy.

 

The town they live in is small, with an equally small population, and somehow, Yixing is sure, Baekhyun is friends with the _entirety_ of it. Time goes on, weeks go by, and constantly, endlessly, Baekhyun already has plans with friends. When he isn’t busy working as a waiter for different events Seungwan and Jongdae cater for, he’s busy with this friend, and that friend, and these friends, and those friends of friends and this one friend who’s friends with his friend’s friend and-

 

Yixing is losing his mind keeping track.

 

Spring blossoms in full glory, warms into early summer. Baby birds are born and trees are full and green and sweaters are tossed to the back of the closet until the weather cools again. The days are longer and Yixing’s store is busier with the town’s kids out of school. Yixing spends his free time at the beach with Chanyeol and Kyungsoo or visiting his mother or stopping by his grandparents’ grave yet he doesn’t see any of Baekhyun.

 

He wasn’t even able to spend the boy’s birthday with him. He merely wished him a happy birthday over the phone.

 

The phone, however, is what has kept Yixing and Baekhyun in touch all this time. Though weeks, even a month or so, has passed since they’ve last seen each other, they do talk nearly every night. Baekhyun talks an awful lot. He talks about his friends and his friend’s friends and his friends who are friends with his friend’s friends, and Yixing genuinely finds it all kind of interesting. He thinks everything that comes out of Baekhyun’s mouth is interesting.

 

Just because they speak often doesn’t mean Yixing doesn’t miss him, however. He misses him fantastically. The way his hair looks so yellow in the shitty lighting Yixing’s living room lamp provides. The way his big, wide grin lights up everything around him. The pinks of his cheeks when he tosses his head back in laughter. The way he sighs, so satisfied, every time Yixing’s lips meet his with a kiss.

 

Yixing is lying on his bed, strumming lazily at his guitar, thinking distractedly and distantly about all the ways he misses Baekhyun. The sun pours orange and red hues in through the window as she sinks toward the horizon. He’s tired, after a long day of work, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep, even if his eyelids are so damn heavy he can’t even keep his eyes open.

 

He wakes to the sound of his phone ringing down the hall.

 

It takes him a moment, to gather his senses. The sky is dark now - how long has he been out? His neck is sore from the way he was half-sitting-half-lying and he groans as he sits up, puts his guitar aside and rubs at the kink in his neck.

 

Oh, right, the phone is ringing.

 

He eventually gets his feet on the ground, his joints complaining as he stands up and starts walking over to his living room. The phone rings its third and final time, and Yixing’s answering machine picks up.

 

_“Hey, you’ve reached Yixing, leave a message and I’ll call you back!”_

 

_BEEEEEEP_

 

Baekhyun’s voice begins to feed through the speaker, “Yixiiiiiing! I know you’re home! Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

 

Yixing is rolling his eyes by the time he reaches his phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. You woke me from a nap.”

 

“Boohoo, sleep or talk to me? We obviously know the superior option.”

 

Yixing laughs, but it dissolves into a yawn. “Mhm. So what’s up?”

 

“Well,” Baekhyun sighs, the sounds of sheets rustling making their way through the receiver. “I had a long day of running errands, dropping off some things that the government needs from me, picking up groceries, getting my prescription refilled, _ugh,_ I am. So. Exhausted.”

 

“Then why bother calling me, huh?” Yixing asks as he plops down onto his couch.

 

He swears he can hear Baekhyun’s lips pulling up into a grin. “Because I miss you, dumbass.”

 

And Yixing is glad Baekhyun isn’t here to see the way his cheeks heat up at his words, utterly pleased.

 

“Speaking of missing you,” Baekhyun says, voice a little dreamy, “guess who’s free on Friday.”

 

Yixing tries to fight the smile attempting to split his face in two. “My guess would have to be… you?”

 

“Me!” Baekhyun cheers. “Which means I think it’s about time you take me out on a date, Zhang Yixing.”

 

He gives up trying to fight, lets himself grin so hard it hurts. “Sure. How ‘bout I take you out for drinks? Some place fancy.”

 

“Fancy?” Baekhyun outright _cackles._ “In our pathetic little town?”

 

Yixing chuckles. “As fancy as we can get.”

 

Baekhyun hums, as if actually pondering what his schedule may be like, as if there’s actually a chance he’ll refuse. “Okay, Zhang, sounds like a plan. Dress nice.”

 

“I’ll do my very best.”

 

“Good,” Baekhyun says. “If you do well enough, I might just let you kiss me goodnight.”

 

\-----

 

It’s the middle of June, and it’s really hot.

 

So hot, in fact, that Yixing feels like he might die in the tight black pants and fitted button-down he’s currently sporting. But he did promise Baekhyun he’d dress nice tonight. At least he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

 

The sun is just barely setting as Yixing makes his way to Baekhyun’s apartment. It’s too hot for him to walk in these clothes, but he didn’t want to drive if they’re going to be getting drinks. Especially since the bar isn’t far from Baekhyun's place. And, either way, Yixing loves a good walk.

 

It doesn’t help that he’s surprisingly nervous. He’s hung out with Baekhyun on many occasions. He’s kissed him and slept with him and made breakfast with him and he talks to him nearly every day. But, perhaps, it's because he hasn’t seen him in some time, so the excitement thrumming through him has taken form as uncontrollable nerves.

 

It’s been a while since Yixing has felt this way about a boy.

 

He climbs the creaky stairs to Baekhyun’s apartment, knocks twice. Baekhyun calls out for him to come in, and Yixing does, sees Baekhyun digging through his bedside table drawer to pull out a pack of cigarettes, his wallet, and his phone. He shoves them into his pockets and stands up straight, turning to face Yixing finally, smile bright and beautiful.

 

“Hey!”

 

Yixing smiles, so glad to finally see Baekhyun again. In his predictable oversized button-down that's the loveliest shade of blue. His hair, still blond and messy as ever, his roots growing out and his bangs falling into his eyes. Yixing has to fight the urge to sprint across the room and tackle Baekhyun with a kiss.

 

“Ready to go?” Yixing says as Baekhyun walks over to him, a slightly exaggerated swing in his hips. Yixing’s heart fumbles a bit in his chest.

 

“Yup,” Baekhyun says, giving Yixing this _look_ before turning to grab his shoes. “Just let me put my shoes on.”

 

Yixing cocks an eyebrow.  “Isn’t it a little hot out for big clunky boots?”

 

“Big clunky boots are part of my aesthetic, no matter the weather,” Baekhyun responds from where he’s bent over, lacing his boots up.

 

“Right.”

 

Baekhyun stands up, then, cheeks a little flushed from being bent over. His eyes sparkle the equivalent of the Milky Way, and he ever so softly says, “Hello, Yixing.”

 

Yixing smiles back, equally soft. “You look nice.”

 

Baekhyun beams, waves his hand dismissively. He deliberately ogles Yixing up and down, in typical shameless Baekhyun fashion, and says, “As do you. God, you look so good in black.”

 

Yixing smirks in an attempt to disguise the flush in his cheeks as he follows Baekhyun out the door. Baekhyun wiggles the key in his lock before pocketing it, and grabs Yixing’s hand as they make their descent down the stairs. Yixing’s heart does that fumbling thing again.

 

“Best be grateful,” Yixing says. “I’m suffering the heat in all black, just to look good.”

 

“Oh, I’m grateful,” Baekhyun drawls coquettishly. “You look so lean and fit and…” he cuts himself off, bites his lip as if to physically stop himself from continuing. “What is it about you that always has me saying too much?”

 

They’re outside, now, walking hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. The sky is a bright and unabashed coral, and it makes Baekhyun's skin and hair glow pink. Yixing is many kinds of happy.

 

Yixing says, “You never really have any trouble saying a lot, though.”

 

“See, that’s where you’re mistaken,” Baekhyun says, swinging their linked hands back and forth between them. “While I do _talk_ a lot, I normally say nothing at all.”

 

“But with me?”

 

“I always say too much,” Baekhyun says. He turns to him, narrows his eyes in jest. “Have you cast some sort of spell on me?”

 

Yixing laughs, refuses to look away from Baekhyun. “I promise, if I have, it wasn’t on purpose.”

 

“Find a way to take it back,” Baekhyun pouts, turning away to look at the street ahead of them. “I’m worried I might scare you away.”

 

Yixing frowns, pursing his lips together as they reach the bar. He holds the door open for Baekhyun, lets go of his hand to let him go in ahead. The lighting is dim in here, the sound of music just a subtle background noise for ambience, the sounds of glasses and utensils clinking, of guests chatting amongst themselves. It’s nice in here, considered a _fancier_ joint compared to others in this small town, so Yixing isn’t in here often. He watches the back of Baekhyun’s head as he leads them to a table, in a slightly secluded part of the lounge, just outside of the crowd.

 

“That’s really nothing you have to worry about.”

 

Baekhyun blinks at him, now seated in the tall barstool at the table. Yixing climbs into the seat across from him.

 

A moment stretches on as Baekhyun reaches for the bar menu, flips through it with his lips pursed into a pout. Yixing wonders what he’s thinking.

 

Finally, Baekhyun says, “We’ll see about that.”

 

It’s then that a waitress shows up, big smile on her pretty face. Yixing recognizes her as Seulgi’s friend, Sooyoung. Both Yixing and Baekhyun light up.

 

“Hey, boys!” She says, balancing a tray of empty glasses on her forearm. “How are you guys?”

 

“I’m great, gorgeous,” Baekhyun says, ever so charming. “How’s the puppy?”

 

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. “She’s _bad._ But she’s cute.”

 

Yixing looks pointedly at Baekhyun. “Sounds familiar.”

 

The three of them all laugh, Baekhyun reaching across the table to swat at Yixing, the mood effectively lifted. Baekhyun closes the bar menu, offers it to Yixing. Yixing takes it, flips through it while Baekhyun and Sooyoung chat amongst themselves, obviously familiar with one another. It isn’t until Sooyoung asks what they want that Yixing tunes back into the conversation.

 

“Your least expensive cocktail,” Baekhyun says. “I’m extra broke this month.”

 

“I’ll be paying, Baek,” Yixing says.

 

“Oh, well in that case, your most expensive cocktail.”

 

Yixing laughs before saying, “Just bring us what _you_ recommend, maybe?”

 

Sooyoung nods. “I know what exactly to get Baekhyunnie. But you, Yixing,” she pauses to narrow her eyes at him, “you’re a little trickier to figure out.”

 

“Surprise me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sooyoung says, turning away. “I’ll be back!”

 

Yixing waves her off while Baekhyun blows her a theatrical kiss. They’re both still smiling as they turn back to face each other.

 

“So how do you know Sooyoung?” Yixing asks.

 

Baekhyun’s eyes do that smiley-shiny thing. He leans his elbow on the table, puts his chin in his hand, looks at Yixing like he doesn’t want to look at anything else for the rest of his life.

 

“Doesn’t everyone know everyone in a little town like ours?” Baekhyun replies. Yixing nods in agreement. “She’s good friends with Seungwan.”

 

“Ah,” Yixing says.

 

“How do you know her?”

 

“We went to the same schools, as kids. She grew up down the street from me.”

 

Baekhyun’s lips pull up into a wistful little smile. “Isn’t life funny?”

 

“It really is.”

 

Sooyoung returns with their drinks, then, sets them on the table with a _voila!_ Baekhyun’s drink is a bright pink, the rim of his glass complete with full strawberries and pink sugar. Yixing’s drink is a steely blue, and he's curious about it, but he’s too busy looking at the way Baekhyun excitedly ogles at his own drink.

 

Sooyoung spins on her heel. “Enjoy!”

 

Yixing distractedly dismisses her, laughing to himself at how Baekhyun turns his glass this way and that, eyes wide, mouth in ultimate-pout-mode. Baekhyun finally looks up at Yixing, grinning, then down to Yixing’s drink.

 

“Oooo!” Baekhyun coos. “They’re both so pretty! Hold on, don’t take a drink yet.”

 

He reaches across the table, arranges their drinks in the centre of their table, perfectly posed together. He digs his phone out of his pocket.

 

“Smile, Yixing!”

 

He’s already smiling.

 

Once Baekhyun is satisfied with the pictures he’s taken and the phone has been pocketed, Yixing is allowed to finally take a sip of his drink. It’s good, somewhat fruity but not very sweet, and he hums, pleased. Baekhyun, however, is dramatically groaning around every sip he takes of his own drink. It makes Yixing laugh and shake his head every time.

 

“I guess you like strawberries?”

 

Baekhyun plucks a berry off the rim of his glass and pops it into his mouth. “Who doesn’t?”

 

“I’m sure there are some people out there,” Yixing shrugs.

 

“Well, I hate them all.”

 

Yixing laughs, just quietly, and just like that they click back into their natural flow. They sip their drinks and they talk about a lot of things that feel like nothing and everything simultaneously. Baekhyun talks about having to get a new electric kettle after his finally went kaput, fills Yixing in on gossip about friends he doesn’t know. Yixing tells him about this song he’s working on that’s currently mostly lyricless, as no words seem to fit the melody the way he wants them to.

 

And when Baekhyun speaks, he shines vivid and bright, his mouth almost unable to keep up with the speed of his brain as he stumbles over words here and there. And when he listens, he settles into this healthy, honey glow. Just subtle and warm and reeking of contentment. It makes Yixing reach out, halfway through an anecdote about some shenanigans Chanyeol and Kyungsoo have gotten into, and take Baekhyun’s hand in his, resting on top of the table. He doesn’t comment on the way Baekhyun’s cheeks burn pink.

 

They’ve each had three drinks, the clocks on their phones tell them it’s technically morning, and they’re both yawning into their fists when they decide it’s time to head out.

 

Yixing pays their tab, and Baekhyun latches onto his arm, holding tight, as they head out onto the sidewalk to begin their journey home. The air is still hot, even in the middle of the night, but it’s pleasant, clear. They walk under the streetlights, the sounds of nightlife left behind them. Ahead of them, the quiet that’s supposed to accompany night. Baekhyun is warm, his arms snaked around Yixing’s bicep, his cheek pressed against his shoulder. Yixing likes this spot, right where he is, connected to Baekhyun like this.

 

“I’m so glad it’s staying warm at night, now,” Baekhyun says. He’s all flushed, from the alcohol. Not drunk, per se, but happy. Giddy. Yixing can see it in the permanent mirth in his eyes.

 

Yixing smiles at him. “And it’s not like it’s a far walk to your place.”

 

Baekhyun hums thoughtfully. Their feet shuffle across the pavement, kicking about pebbles beneath them. The sounds of the bars behind them are getting quieter, slowly, as they venture on. Baekhyun squeezes his arm, just briefly, just lightly, as if it’s done subconsciously.

 

“You know you’re not coming up, though, right?”

 

Yixing blinks down at him. “No?” He asks, though he didn’t really assume anything about tonight.

 

“Nope!” Baekhyun says, proudly. “I never put out on the first date.”

 

Yixing furrows his brow, mouth quirking up in amusement. “So this is our first date, huh?”

 

“Of course,” Baekhyun says, as if it’s the most obvious thing. “Everything before this was just us hanging out as friends. This is our first actual _date.”_

 

“I'm pretty sure most friends have not touched one another’s di-”

 

Baekhyun pushes him away with loud laughter, cutting him off. Yixing laughs along with him, allows Baekhyun to pull him back into his space. They’re close to Baekhyun’s apartment, now, the sounds of nightlife still noticeable but far from overbearing.

 

A hand slides down Yixing’s arm to lace fingers with his own. Baekhyun’s palm is warm, just like the side of his ribs pressed against Yixing. Just like his breath against his shoulder and the way his eyes look behind eyelashes when Yixing turns his head to glance at him. It’s going to be a stiflingly hot summer, but Yixing still welcomes the warmth that Baekhyun provides.

 

They arrive at Baekhyun’s building, climb the creaky stairs together. It still smells like fabric softener, always does. It’s dark, up here, in the little hallway that leads to Baekhyun’s door. The one, lone, pathetic light hanging from the wall casts a dim, warm yellow, and is of very little help to see.

 

But, still, Baekhyun looks so pretty. Even in such terrible light that casts brutal shadows across his face and makes his hair an awful brassy colour. He’s beautiful. And Yixing feels extremely stuck in his place, here, where he stands, just outside Baekhyun’s door.

 

“So you passed, by the way,” Baekhyun says.

 

It takes Yixing’s brain a moment to catch up, to realize Baekhyun is speaking to him. “Passed?” He blinks.

 

Baekhyun bites his bottom lip between grinning teeth. “You passed the date. You can kiss me good night.”

 

“Oh, good,” Yixing says, finally up to speed.

 

He leans in, and so does Baekhyun, and Yixing smirks to himself before ducking his head to the side to plant a kiss to Baekhyun’s right cheek. He earns a whine.

 

“Yixing…”

 

“You said I could kiss you good night,” he says, crossing to kiss his left cheek, “but you didn’t say how many kisses I get.”

 

He snakes a hand around to press into the small of Baekhyun’s back and pull him in closer. He kisses his jawline, careful not to touch his neck as he’d been warned about the last time, then to the other side. Baekhyun is a giggling, giddy, slightly pink mess in his arms.

 

“You weirdo,” Baekhyun says. Entirely fond.

 

Yixing lifts his chin back up, kissing Baekhyun’s forehead and his nose. The freckle on his temple, then the one on the center of his cheek. He pulls back, meets Baekhyun’s gaze. Baekhyun looks back at him, eyes swimming in poor lighting and a sense of challenge. As if he’s daring Yixing to lean in and take his final kiss of the night. He curls his fingers, digs them into the skin of Baekhyun’s back, watches the way flames engulf Baekhyun’s irises like wildfire.

 

“Hurry up,” Baekhyun says, the challenge in his eyes translating to the words that spill from his lips, “before I get tired of waiting.”

 

“You have no idea the effect you have on me,” Yixing breathes out just before he dives in and presses their mouths together.

 

Baekhyun gasps a little bit, fingers curling into Yixing’s biceps, clearly startled. But they quickly fall into the comfortable pace, the perfect way they fit together. Humming pleasantly against each other’s mouths, so warm against each other as they somehow step in, pull each other in, even closer, closer. Until they’re chest-to-chest and absolutely wrapped up in each other.

 

Yixing never, ever, wants to let go.

 

But, he does, inevitably. They don’t separate much, just enough that Yixing can look down at his face, at the peaks and hollows of his features. At the way he looks reluctant to open his eyes to a world where they’re not kissing anymore. It makes Yixing’s mouth twist into an amused little half smirk just as Baekhyun’s eyelashes flutter all the way open.

 

“Good night,” Yixing mutters, nearly connected to Baekhyun’s lips again. Baekhyun’s lips remain agape, his eyes sturdily opposing Yixing’s own, as if inviting him to take a little more.

 

But Yixing doesn’t. He just stays this painfully close a little longer.

 

“Come over tomorrow,” Baekhyun says. “I have plans with Jongdae but I’ll cancel. I want you to come over tomorrow.”

 

“Can’t get enough of me?” Yixing teases.

 

“Nope.”

 

A smile. “Me neither.”

 

Baekhyun places a hand flat on his chest, then, pushes him away. It’s barely a step back, though. They’re still close enough that Yixing can feel his breath against his skin. Baekhyun looks up at him, intense, feverish expression softening into a sweet smile. Yixing can’t help but return it.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, handsome,” Baekhyun chimes, before finally stepping back far enough to dig his keys from his pocket and unlock his apartment door. He glances over his shoulder at Yixing just as he’s swinging the door open, revealing the darkness beyond the threshold. “Get home safely.”

 

“Good night, Baekhyun,” Yixing says with a nod, turning on his heel and bounding down the stairs and out onto the street.

 

He’s glad he never has to worry about being mugged or jumped in his little town. He knows everyone too well. That’s the thing with a place like this. You can never get away with anything, because everyone knows who you are. And it’s for this reason that Yixing can have a peaceful, relaxing, clarifying walk home from Baekhyun’s apartment. The sky is clear and the stars are bright and the moon hangs proudly over the earth, illuminating Yixing’s path home.

 

He’s full to the brim with this overwhelming sense of contentment. Wholeness. And it carries on as he locks his apartment door behind himself and sheds himself of his restrictive clothes and climbs into bed. He’s thinking about him, obviously. There’s this fluttering in his stomach that won’t quite go away, and he kind of really likes it that way.

 

Hopefully that feeling remains even throughout his dreams.

 

\-----

 

Yixing’s knuckles rub at puffy eyes as he sits on his porch swing, mug of coffee in one hand, freshly lit cigarette hanging between his sleep-swollen lips. He didn’t drink a lot the night before, but it was certainly all sugary enough to leave him with a dull headache upon waking up this morning, and so far, his morning coffee and cigarette are _not_ working. In the slightest.

 

But, he is going to spend the day with Baekhyun in a bit. That’s enough to cure just about any ailment.

 

He sits in the morning sun. Sips his coffee and smokes his cigarette. He’s glad he has today off, so he can actually take Baekhyun up on his offer to spend the day together. He remembers a time before he and his grandfather had hired Chanyeol, when Yixing would have to be at the shop from open until close every single day. He hadn’t even wanted to hire Chanyeol. It was his grandfather who insisted that Yixing should be able to split the workload, even if not quite down the middle.

 

It’s getting too hot, sitting out in the sun. And he’s long finished his cigarette and what’s left of his coffee has gone lukewarm and dissatisfying. So, he unfolds himself from his seat on the swing, stretches out his limbs with a yawn and a groan, and heads back inside to hop in the shower and get dressed.

 

He decides, between his headache and the heat and the fact that he’s done so much walking lately, that he’s going to take the truck to Baekhyun’s. There’s also the fact that it shortens the journey from about ten minutes to about three. And it’s a nice, quick little drive.

 

He parks in the gravel parking lot behind the laundromat, doesn’t bother to roll up the windows of his truck - there’s nothing valuable in there, anyway - and drags his feet toward the door. He wonders if Baekhyun would approve of him coming over just to nap.

 

The stairs creak and groan beneath him as he ambles up toward Baekhyun’s apartment. He knocks, twice. There’s a shuffling and the sounds of footsteps on the other side of the door, before Baekhyun is swinging the door open, with his hair still damp at the ends from a shower, an oversized white t-shirt hanging gracelessly from his shoulders, and Yixing is so stupidly glad to be here.

 

“Hey-”

 

Baekhyun grabs him by the front of his t-shirt and drags him in before Yixing could even finish his greeting. And a _thump_ as he’s pushed back against the freshly closed door, Baekhyun stepping up into his space, chest-to-chest. There’s only a brief moment where Baekhyun meets his gaze before crowding his space completely, practically stepping in between Yixing’s ribs and positively _crashing_ their mouths together.

 

There is no grace, no technique whatsoever. It’s just pure desperation and fever and hunger. It’s sloppy and vicious and Yixing struggles to keep up, digs his fingers into Baekhyun’s waist if only to ground himself. Baekhyun’s own hands are buried mercilessly in Yixing’s hair, their teeth clashing together, Baekhyun’s tongue forcing its way between Yixing’s teeth to explore his mouth. It makes Yixing’s toes curl in his shoes, but he still pulls away to take a breath. To let Baekhyun take a breath.

 

“What about your rule?”  He pants, leaning his head back against the door behind him. He watches Baekhyun through hooded eyelids, the flush in his cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of his breath.

 

His gaze burns even hotter. “It’s not the first date anymore.” His hands slide down from Yixing’s hair to the back of his neck - causing him to shudder at the touch - and then down his chest. His eyes follow his hands, studying every inch of Yixing that he touches, even through his clothing. He mutters, “God, I envy this.”

 

“What, my shirt?” Yixing asks, incredulous.

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, furrowing his brow, stepping in closer again. His hands get hotter, more wicked as they roam Yixing’s torso over his cotton t-shirt, pressing firm and leaving licks of roaring flame in his wake. “Gets to just hang there. Touch all of you, all at once, all the time.”

 

Yixing smirks, uses his grip on Baekhyun’s waist to pull him in closer, their hips meeting between them. “Poetic.”

 

“ _Frustrating,”_ Baekhyun corrects.

 

He lifts a hand to rest on the nape of Baekhyun’s neck, tilts Baekhyun’s head forward, closer. They stand there, immeasurably close, both sets of lips agape, barely millimeters from fusing together. Yixing just holds him there, with the grip he has on the hairs at the back of Baekhyun’s neck. And Baekhyun loves it, stares back with white-hot intensity, reverting back to the way he _dares_ Yixing to take what he wants.

 

“Maybe,” Yixing whispers, his lips lightly brushing against Baekhyun’s as they warp around his syllables, “if you took it off me you wouldn’t be so jealous of it.”

 

Baekhyun groans, his irises sinking impossibly darker.

 

Yixing smiles, completely wicked. “But at least let me get out of my shoes first?”

 

Baekhyun groans again, this time for an entirely different reason, as Yixing pushes him away. The room is startlingly cooler without Baekhyun sharing breaths with him. It makes him a little delirious as he bends over to unlace his shoes, toe them off his heels. He sighs as he stands back up straight, immediately crowded by Baekhyun again.

 

Yixing desperately wants to dip down, mouth at that beautiful neck of his, but he knows he can’t. He knows how Baekhyun darkens and hollows, and doesn’t wish to see that again, hopefully never. A long time stretches, where they just stand there and watch each other, Baekhyun pressed flush against him, his hands on Yixing’s hips. Yixing has one hand on Baekhyun’s waist, the other lifting up to gently brush Baekhyun’s hair back off his face. So soft in every way.

 

With a hum, Baekhyun closes his eyes, says, “Kiss me.”

 

“In a sec,” Yixing says, teases a little, as he continues to run his fingers through Baekhyun’s soft hair. Baekhyun whines, falls even further into Yixing, a dead weight pinning him to the door. Yixing laughs at his petulance before leaning in and kissing Baekhyun soundly on the mouth.

 

It’s neater than the last one, more contained, more deliberate. They give and take at an even ratio, hot mouth against hot mouth, soak each other in. It blows Yixing’s mind that every single kiss with Baekhyun is so exhilarating, so belly-churning. It remains sweet, romantic, until Baekhyun drops his jaw with a heavy sigh and makes the kiss that much filthier. It has Yixing rocking his hips against Baekhyun as reflex, which clearly pleases him, Baekhyun releasing a pleased little hum as his kisses curl at the corners with a sly smile.

 

Heat rises even more between them as Baekhyun rocks back, tilting his head to the side to start mouthing at Yixing’s neck. It has Yixing sighing, his knees going weak, and he squeezes at Baekhyun’s shoulders briefly, hoping to center himself. Stop the room from spinning so much.

 

Baekhyun slips his hands under the hem of Yixing’s t-shirt, hot hands against hot skin. Yixing’s spine shivers from the base up to his neck, the feeling of Baekhyun’s hands sliding earnestly up his torso, over his ribs, exposing the skin as he goes, has Yixing’s knees positively giving out. He’d collapse if Baekhyun didn’t have him pinned so firmly to the door.

 

They separate enough to get Yixing’s shirt over his head and onto the floor, and Yixing has enough mind to say, “You know we’re, like, ten steps from your bed.”

 

“Ugh, fine,” Baekhyun says, as if it’s the greatest sacrifice of all time not to just take Yixing right there where they stand. He steps back, grabs Yixing by the belt loops of his jeans, literally drags him toward the bed. Yixing’s too disoriented for his feet to keep up much, but he manages.

 

He falls with a _thump_ back onto the mattress as Baekhyun climbs over him, his knees on either side of Yixing’s hips. The window just above them bathes Baekhyun in the afternoon sun and he utterly _glows._ It has Yixing reaching out, dragging reverent hands up from Baekhyun’s hips to grab the hem of his shirt, hesitates, waits for permission. Baekhyun blushes bashful, but nods, just subtly, and Yixing pulls the fabric free off Baekhyun in record time, eager to get his hands on as much skin as possible.

 

Baekhyun’s flush reaches from the tops of his cheeks to the center of his chest, and Yixing wants to kiss every inch of it. He grunts as he pushes at Baekhyun’s hips and rolls them both over, Baekhyun flopping back onto the white sheets with a giggle. Yixing just hovers over him a moment, admires the way Baekhyun’s yellow hair fans out around his head, the way his eyes sparkle amongst the way they’ve darkened with lust. He can’t help but duck down, kiss each of his cheeks, then his mouth, as ardent as he can manage.

 

“What do you want, baby?” Yixing asks, voice gentle, dipping down further to kiss the middle of Baekhyun’s chest. He can feel his racing heartbeat against his lips. A restless _thump, thump, thump._

 

Baekhyun sighs, his fingertips trailing up and down Yixing’s back. “I don’t know.”

 

“Sure you do,” Yixing says, back up to his lips again. A kiss. He drags a hand down Baekhyun’s waist, grips hard against the softness above the hem of his pants. Baekhyun flinches. Yixing moves his hand. “You sure seemed to know what you wanted when you attacked me the second I knocked on your door.”

 

He laughs, embarrassed. “I want _everything,_ Yixing,” he says, “how am I supposed to pick?”

 

Yixing smiles into their next kiss, drags a finger down Baekhyun’s sternum, over his navel, to the waistband of the sweatpants he’s wearing. “Well, perhaps we could start by getting you out of these.”

 

Baekhyun bites his lip, lifts his hips so Yixing can hook his fingers under the waistband and tug them down his hips. He’s so helplessly pleased to discover Baekhyun wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath them, revealing nothing but bare, soft skin as he slides the pants down his thighs, over his knees, free from his ankles.

 

And there’s just so much to admire. Yixing is so glad he’s finally seeing him like this, all of him, in such gracious light, too. Every inch of Baekhyun, milky and soft, inviting and pinchable. Yixing can’t help but run hot hands from Baekhyun’s knees, up over his thighs, squeezing as he goes. Baekhyun’s breath hitches before he rushedly shuffles further back on the bed, grabs Yixing’s hands and pulls them away from his thighs and up to his face.

 

It makes Yixing meet his eyes, allows his hands to gently cup Baekhyun’s cheeks as Baekhyun had silently asked, and he sees it. That flash of something in his eyes that looks startlingly like the shattered boy who sat on that piano bench ages ago, a distant plea for Yixing to do whatever it takes to keep that boy buried deep inside, keep him hidden from the surface.

 

Yixing’s heart shatters for a moment, so he decides to heal it by pulling Baekhyun into another fervent kiss.

 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers against Baekhyun’s lips. He watches Baekhyun’s expression melt.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please, what?” Yixing asks, dropping a hand from Baekhyun’s cheek to snake around and press against his lower back.

 

Baekhyun’s stare is searing, the firm lines of his face furthering his confidence. “Have me.”

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Yixing groans, pushing up from where he was resting comfortably between Baekhyun’s hips. “Bedside drawer?”

 

“Yeah. Hurry.”

 

Yixing tsks. “Patience is a virtue, Baekhyunnie.” He crawls over to the bedside table, digging into the drawer to find what he needs.

 

Baekhyun kicks his butt lightly. “I mean I’ve only been thinking about this since _last night_ so I think I’ve waited long enough,” he says. “And hurry up and get naked before I die of embarrassment.”

 

“Oh my god,” Yixing says with a laugh as he walks on his knees back over to where Baekhyun is. He stops, looms over him, lets his eyes rake over Baekhyun’s form, from his ankles to his face, not bothering to be subtle at all. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

 

“Just get your pants off, already.”

 

Yixing laughs, not even needing to comply as Baekhyun is already reaching out and unfastening his jeans for him. Yixing watches on, enraptured in the way Baekhyun’s pretty fingers move deftly, dexterously, purposely dragging a tad too much as he lowers the zipper. The slow, agonizing friction makes Yixing quake, and a quick glance up at Baekhyun’s smug smile hints that he’s awfully pleased with the things he does to him.

 

“You said last night that I have no idea what effect I have,” Baekhyun says, pushing Yixing’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. The moment Yixing’s hardening dick is exposed to the hot air around them, they both groan. Yixing out of relief, Baekhyun out of hunger. “But, believe me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

 

Yixing’s brain kicks into autopilot, then. He pushes Baekhyun’s hands away so he can hurry out of the constraint of his pants and underwear, toss them onto the floor, climb back to where he belongs over Baekhyun, between his thighs. Baekhyun smirks up at him, infinitely desirable and delectable, and Yixing dips down for yet another desperate kiss. He can never, _ever_ get enough of drinking from his lips like this.

 

He drags his teeth along Baekhyun’s bottom lip as he pulls back, earns a quiet gasp that shoots right to the pit of his belly. He says, “Want me to prep you?” so surprisingly lowly. He doesn’t know _how_ his voice got so shot so easily. Baekhyun seems to really love it, if the flicker in his irises is any indication.

 

“Won’t take much work,” he replies, breathlessly, grabbing the bottle of lube from where it was abandoned on the sheets. “Had some fun in the shower, knowing you’d be coming over.”

 

“Jesus _Christ,_ Baekhyun.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Baekhyun says through a cheeky grin as he places the bottle in Yixing’s palm, “I didn’t let myself come. Saved that for you.”

 

No force on earth could possibly get Yixing to squeeze lube onto his fingers any faster than he is. “What did I do in a past life to deserve you?”

 

Baekhyun laughs, but it hiccups into a whimper as Yixing drags the tip of his finger around Baekhyun’s entrance, watches the way he squirms a little. He dips one finger in, just to the first knuckle, then retracts completely, laughs at the way Baekhyun whines in complaint. He dips down to kiss his collarbone, parts his lips to suck a mark into pale skin, fully intends to just take Baekhyun apart like this.

 

Baekhyun, however, has different plans.

 

“Come _on,_ Yixing,” he groans, “show me what you’ve got.”

 

And Yixing doesn’t mind if he does.

 

Baekhyun was right, when he said it wouldn’t take much work, as Yixing easily sinks two fingers in right away. Baekhyun moans, the most obscene, animalistic sound, and it makes Yixing’s gut boil over. He keeps his free hand on his hip, thrusts and curls his fingers as expertly as he can, swallows all of Baekhyun’s cries and sighs with his kisses. He searches, crooks his fingers, smiles to himself when Baekhyun gasps and arches off the bed, realizes he’s found what he was looking for.

 

“You’re so loose already,” Yixing groans into Baekhyun’s skin. He drags his tongue across Baekhyun’s collarbone, down his chest. “Do you do that often? Finger yourself and think of me?”

 

“ _God,_ yes,” Baekhyun practically cries, losing control of his breath, his limbs, as Yixing alternates between gentle strokes and adding pressure where Baekhyun feels it most. “Almost came in the shower earlier,” he says through heavy breaths, “just imagining it was your fingers, instead. Y-your cock.”

 

“Fuck, Baek,” Yixing breathes out. He adds a third finger, watches Baekhyun melt into the mattress, ruts against the air as his hips _ache_ for some sort of friction. Baekhyun’s face continues to contort as his body squirms with overflowing pleasure. Yixing could watch him forever.

 

“You love this, don’t you?” He asks, predatory. “You just love being fingered.”

 

“Y-yeah,” Baekhyun sounds absolutely pathetic, “but-” _gasp_ “-you know what I love more?”

 

He tilts his chin down, lifting his eyes to meet Yixing’s gaze. He can physically _feel_ the heat searing into his skin.

 

“Being fucked.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“ _Okay,”_ Baekhyun laughs. “I ask you to hurry up and fuck me and you say _okay.”_

 

“I can’t exactly think straight right now,” Yixing defends himself, handing Baekhyun the condom packet so he can tear it open without slimy, lubed up fingers. “You’ve already acknowledged you’re aware of the effect you have on me.”

 

Baekhyun, despite being flushed and sweaty and a little blissed out, still manages to flash the most shit-eating grin Yixing has ever seen.

 

“You ready?” Yixing asks, settled comfortably between Baekhyun’s hips, bracing an elbow at the side of Baekhyun’s head, the other hand between them.

 

“Fuckin’ right I am,” Baekhyun replies.

 

Yixing chuckles, nods his head, leans in to press his mouth into Baekhyun’s just as he finally, _finally,_ sinks himself into Baekhyun’s warmth. He’s slow, steady, taking careful note of the ways Baekhyun’s breath hitches and his fingers twitch against Yixing’s waist, until they’re skin-to-skin and as connected to one another as humanly possible.

 

_“Oh my god.”_

 

“Jesus _Christ, Baekhyun.”_

 

He presses his torso down further against Baekhyun’s skin, where it’s so warm Yixing feels like he may be melting into the bed spread. He just remains there, a moment longer, absorbing the uneven, heavy breaths heaving from Baekhyun’s chest, the way his blood is pulsing loudly in his ears. Yixing shifts his weight, putting all of it onto his forearm and dragging a hand down along Baekhyun’s torso, indulging in all the softness and all the warmth of his flesh. He squeezes, at the small of his waist, where the skin is the softest, and Baekhyun reaches down to lace their fingers tightly together, brings their entwined hands up to press into the pillow above his head, fixes Yixing with a pointed stare.

 

“Move, already.”

 

With a nod, a muttered agreement, another kiss to Baekhyun’s lips, Yixing does so. Nails dig into skin and sighs push up from lungs and toes curl on their own accord as Yixing builds up a pace, steady, but not rushed, but enough to keep the shocks flowing through their veins, to the tips of their fingers and the ends of their toes.

 

Baekhyun gasps for breath. “Sh- _shit, Yixing.”_

 

“Yeah-”

 

“Kiss me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Baek-” and he leans up and kisses him breathless.

 

They’re nothing but a tangled form of heat and desperation, steam inevitably rising from the little amount of space between them. Baekhyun’s skin, his mouth, his breath, so hot all around Yixing and in Yixing and beside Yixing. He’s full to the brim with desire, with warmth, with longing, with _Baekhyun,_ and he feels like the second he’s separated he may just _starve_ to death.

 

Baekhyun’s hand splays at the small of Yixing’s back, nails curling into the skin whenever Yixing moves _just right._ He lets go of Yixing’s hand above his head, slides it from Yixing’s shoulder down to his hip, squeezing his asscheek between his fingers. Urging him to move his hips harder, faster, deeper, just like the words that spill like a mantra from Baekhyun’s kiss swollen lips. Yixing uses his newly freed hand to tangle ungraciously in Baekhyun’s hair, tugging maybe a little too roughly in his inability to put care into the smallest of actions, but Baekhyun must like it, since he moans the most shameless sound Yixing’s heard from his lips to date. And he’s too caught up in the way yellow looks in his fist, pouring between his fingers like sweet honey, coating his knuckles. Baekhyun moans, squeezes his thighs around Yixing’s hips, wordlessly urges him to move this way or that.

 

And besides feeling breathless, besides the palpable pleasure skirting across every inch of his skin, Yixing feels this all consuming sense of gratification filling him from the inside and outward. He knows, with his entire being, that this is beyond the obvious and unquestionable physical attraction between two people - it is so much more.

 

It’s like as Baekhyun breathes his praises into Yixing’s mouth, he’s breathing a little piece of him. Like as they move in tandem, as they melt further into one another, they share more and more of themselves, until flesh fuses into flesh, and they’re just one, whole, complete, being.

 

Like they’ve cracked open each other’s ribs, each other’s skulls, and just spilled everything out to one another, inviting them to help themselves and take everything they crave. Everything they yearn to have.

 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck, Yixing,”_ Baekhyun is sobbing into Yixing’s skin, dragging him back into his own body, from where he was certainly floating far above himself.

 

“Yeah, y-you close, baby?”

 

“I- I like it when you call me - _ah_ \- that.”

 

“Baby?”

 

_“Mmmm-”_

 

“Baby.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You close?”

 

“I’d be closer if-” he breaks off into a moan, squirming his hips against Yixing, using hands to violently drag him even closer. “If you didn’t slow down every time you started speaking to me.”

 

Yixing can’t help but laugh under his breath, rising up onto his knees and using hot hands to tilt Baekhyun’s hips up to _just_ the right angle.

 

“Fair enough,” he says, before he picks up speed again, all hot flesh and breathless gasps.

 

“Oh, oh, oh, _oh, oh-”_

 

 _“Fuck, Baek-”_ Yixing can’t even finish his sentence, losing control of his hips as well as his words, his thrusts getting sloppy, his stomach boiling over. He can’t help but release this heady, animalistic groan at the sight of Baekhyun reaching between them, taking his own, neglected dick into his fist.

 

And before Baekhyun can utter the words besides a stuttered, wordless plea, he’s spilling over his heaving stomach with a silent scream. The crease in his brow, the clench of his muscles, the shaky, desperate breaths that bleed from between Baekhyun’s teeth pull Yixing over the edge with him, shaking into Baekhyun’s hips, dipping his head down to groan into Baekhyun’s shoulder, carefully avoiding his neck.

 

He rolls over onto his side and takes Baekhyun with him, arms wrapped around each other as they lay there, still connected by every inch of them, laying face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and giving themselves time to return to earth. At some point, Yixing pulls out, tosses the condom in the bin, but quickly returns to his spot in Baekhyun’s arms. Just lets himself lay there, wrapped up in all this warmth, to catch his breath.

 

Eventually, Baekhyun rolls over, reaches into his bedside table drawer to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, flops back down against the pillows.

 

“Crack the window,” he says.

 

Yixing complies, and is immediately astounded by the amount of fresh air that gushes in. He hadn’t even realized how stuffy and steamy it had become in their little area. It makes him smile to himself before climbing out of bed to go grab his own pack from his pants pocket. Baekhyun watches him with studious eyes, with questions knitting his brows together, but he doesn’t say anything, just lights his own cigarette and tosses Yixing the lighter once he’s joined him again on the bed.

 

They lay there for some time, just shoulder-to-shoulder, laying there nude and sweaty and sticky, smoking their cigarettes and saying nothing at all. Baekhyun hooks a leg over one of Yixing’s, just a silly and small act of affection. It’s so perfectly _Baekhyun,_ Yixing realizes. Just always finding a funny way to touch, as if he needs to remind Yixing that he’s here.

 

Yixing stares down at their tangled legs, at the soft, pale skin of Baekhyun’s warm thigh. He thinks about Baekhyun’s face, the way his expression would darken whenever Yixing would reach for his thighs, or his hips, or anywhere that’s so invitingly soft and grabbable.

 

He decides to test the waters, drops a hand down to rest against Baekhyun’s thigh. The boy tenses, but doesn’t move, so Yixing squeezes. Baekhyun has never pulled away from him so fast.

 

“Why do you do that?” Yixing asks, reaching across Baekhyun’s chest to put out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table.

 

Baekhyun just blinks at him. “Do what?”

 

“You just…” he starts, then reaches for Baekhyun’s hips to watch him sink in on himself a little. “You retract. Every time I try to touch you like this.”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything right away. He puts out his own cigarette, inhales deep through his nose. He isn’t touching Yixing, anymore. Not anywhere. He’s completely pulled away from him, now with inches between them instead of connected skin to skin.

 

He finally says, “Some days are worse than others, I guess.”

 

Yixing still doesn’t understand, so he says nothing.

 

Baekhyun continues, “I have a hard time with, I don’t know… acknowledging the body I’m in. I guess.” Yixing waits with furrowed brows. Baekhyun seems to get even smaller, staring blankly at the sheets between Yixing’s legs and his own. “I’ve-- struggled with an eating disorder for a really long time.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I’m better now, though!” Baekhyun says, almost forcefully cheerful. “I still have some issues but… I spent a long time working on it with a lot of help. I’m better.”

 

“Oh,” Yixing says, again. He frowns at nothing, his mind finally catching up to all the information. And it all makes _sense._ The clothes and the cupcakes and the way he gets so nervous when Yixing can see all of him. The oversized shirts and how he politely declines food that doesn’t meet his apparent standards. How he was so skinny when Yixing almost knew him years ago, how he seemingly just disappeared for a few years, reappearing as an entirely new person out of nowhere.

 

It makes his heart ache in his chest. He knew Baekhyun had been broken before, but with this new information it’s more palpable, more understandable. He hates it to his core. He hates that Baekhyun has ached in such a way. Yixing wishes desperately for something he could do… just to aid whatever wounds may remain.

 

He flies out of bed without a word and Baekhyun watches him, eyes wide. He’s nervous, it’s noticeable, but mostly curious as he sits up at the edge of the bed, putting his feet on the floor. Yixing looks around the apartment, then back to Baekhyun.

 

“Where did you put all those clothes we cut up?” He asks.

 

Baekhyun blinks. “They’re all in garbage bags in the closet,” he says quietly, pointing to the closet door in question. “Why?”

 

“I’d say this counts as a rainy day, don’t you?”

 

Baekhyun looks over his shoulder at the window behind him. At the sun and the blue sky beyond the glass. He turns back to Yixing with a bemused smile on his lips, a curious furrow in his brow. “I mean… no.”

 

“Sure it is,” Yixing says, quickly walking over to the closet door to swing it open and pull out the heavy garbage bags of chopped up fabric. He can feel Baekhyun’s eyes boring into him and he suddenly remembers that he’s still naked and in desperate need of a shower.

 

He looks over his shoulder at Baekhyun, flashes him a smile. “What do you say we go shower then find somewhere to go light this shit on fire?”

 

Baekhyun laughs, red in the cheeks. He gets up from his seat, rushes over to Yixing, presses against his back and tosses his arms over his shoulders. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, bright and unabashed, and Yixing can see that his eyes are looking a little glassy, a little starry. He decides not to comment on it.

 

“How are you so good, Zhang Yixing?”

 

Yixing allows his lips to pull into the widest, tight-lipped smile. He spins in Baekhyun’s grip so he can face him, wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s waist.

 

He says, “It’s not for a lack of trying.”

 

Baekhyun’s eyes still appear a bit teary as his smile softens into something genuine and gracious. “Well, thank you for trying so hard, then.”

 

Yixing’s only response is to lean in and kiss him.

 

\-----

 

Their hair is still damp from their shower as they load the garbage bags of tattered fabrics into Yixing’s truck. They’re both giddy, excited, even. Overexcited after spending more of their shower kissing than actually washing.

 

It’s late afternoon, boiling hot, the sun shining brightly and boldly as if she knows she’ll be gone in a few hours. They climb into the truck, the doors groaning at the hinges as they slam shut, and Yixing starts up the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. Baekhyun already has his head hanging out the window like a puppy, smiling into the sun and the wind and making Yixing laugh to himself before Baekhyun sinks back into his seat properly, beaming over at Yixing with unbridled joy.

 

“Where are we even gonna be able to burn these?” Yixing asks.

 

“Dae and Seungwan have a firepit in their backyard. They’re out of town for the weekend but I practically own the house too, so,” Baekhyun says.

 

Yixing laughs, unable to disagree. “Works for me.”

 

He makes a left turn, changing route to Jongdae and Seungwan’s neighbourhood. The drive is brief, just like it is to get anywhere around these parts, and soon he’s pulling into their driveway and cutting the engine. Yixing unbuckles his seatbelt, ready to climb out of the truck, but notices Baekhyun hasn’t moved.

 

He sits there, terribly still, staring blankly at the dashboard in front of him. He appears… tense. Even terrified. Yixing reaches a hand out to maybe touch, take Baekhyun’s arm and get his attention, but something tells him not to. His hand hovers between them before he slowly draws it back, holds it to his chest.

 

“Baekhyun?” Yixing says, softly. He doesn’t get a response. “Are you okay?”

 

It takes a moment, but Baekhyun does eventually return to his body, sinking his shoulders and finally blinking. He says, “Yeah, it’s just…” he trails off, disappears back within himself.

 

Yixing waits.

 

“I’m really about to burn all these. Get rid of them for good.” A long moment stretches, Baekhyun’s thoughts practically audible to Yixing’s ears as he watches the poor boy’s eyes fade in and out of focus. “They’ll be gone forever, I can’t stitch them back together, and I’ll _really_ never be able to fit into them - wear them - again.”

 

Yixing thinks about the size of that blue and white striped shirt he had cut up all those nights ago. “I wouldn’t consider that a bad thing.”

 

“Well, obviously, no. No question.” Baekhyun takes a big breath. Yixing feels this awful sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. “But to _me-_ I just… yeah.”

 

“I get it,” Yixing says. At least he somewhat gets it. He’s sure he’ll never entirely understand. He’ll just do his best to recognize that the way Baekhyun thinks and feels is incredibly valid, and very much real.

 

“Thank you for being so patient and nice about all this,” Baekhyun says, looking up to finally meet Yixing’s eyes. “Most people don’t know what to say once they find out and they get all sappy, or whatever but. You didn’t do that. So, thanks.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “It’s no problem.”

 

Baekhyun smiles at him. Yixing smiles back. Without another word, they both turn to climb out of the truck and onto the gravel beneath them. They grab the garbage bags from the back, load up the fire pit in the backyard, light the kindle beneath the firewood in a comfortable silence. Yixing stands back, both garbage bags hanging at his sides, watching as Baekhyun uses his lighter to ignite the flame, his ever-present little pout on his lips.

 

Once the fire is roaring proudly, Baekhyun steps back, shoulder-to-shoulder with Yixing. They just quietly watch the fire for a long moment.

 

“So,” Baekhyun says, “ready to light this shit up?”

 

Yixing can’t help but smile as he nods, ripping the garbage bags open at the top. Baekhyun wastes no time digging his hands into the bag, pulling out a handful of tattered fabric, and giving it hardly a glance before tossing it into the fire. The flame puffs up at the new intrusion before settling back into its low rumble. Neither of them say anything for a while. They just watch the swatches burn at the edges until there’s nothing at all.

 

“Holy shit,” Baekhyun says, “that felt good.”

 

Yixing laughs, digs out another handful from the bag and holds it out to Baekhyun. “Well, you’ve got two more garbage bags of that feeling coming.”

 

Baekhyun lets out this silly little laugh, just this release of breath and relief. His eyes sparkle, his cheeks burn pink. He accepts the handful, this time tossing it into the fire with much more fervour, much more conviction. The fire eats it up and Baekhyun releases the loudest, most delighted bout of laughter Yixing has ever heard.

 

“Join me,” Baekhyun says, eyes burning brighter than the fire before them. “Help me burn this, I promise, it’s fun.”

 

Yixing smiles to himself, thinks about the day he first entered Baekhyun’s apartment to find him cutting his clothes to bits, asking him to join him in a remarkably similar way. “Sure.”

 

It quickly becomes a game, like most things between them. Baekhyun, always so _challenging,_ always turning everything into a bit of a competition. They throw handfuls of fabric into the firepit with increasing enthusiasm, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt, seeing who can make the fire grow bigger, bigger, _bigger_ \- until it’s spilling over the sides of the firepit and into the grass.

 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck, fuck,”_ Baekhyun shrieks through his giggles. Yixing can’t do anything besides laugh as they both stomp at the ground around the fire, trying to stop it from spreading any further.

 

“This got a little outta hand.”

 

“Oh, you think, Yixing?”

 

They just laugh some more, the fire officially contained. There’s still quite a bit left to burn, but the accidental mess did enough to calm them down a little bit. They both stand, breathless, as Baekhyun takes another handful and - gently - tosses it into the pit.

 

The sun has sunk considerably, the sky burning orange above them, the fire burning orange below them. Yixing’s skin feels hot, standing close to the fire like this, his hands in his pockets, Baekhyun at his side. Another few pieces are thrown in, sparks flying into the air. Baekhyun sighs.

 

“You know, when I’d first gone to rehab, everyone was _so_ sure that they were gonna fix me,” Baekhyun says. Yixing turns to look at him, his profile illuminated in the orange light all around them. Utterly ethereal. “It pissed me off so much. For one, I was convinced I didn’t need fixing at all.”

 

Yixing almost says something, even just to show that he’s listening, that he’s following. Something catches in his throat, though, and he just watches Baekhyun as he watches the fire.

 

He tosses in another handful. The second and last bag is almost empty. “I was so annoyed with all these people who didn’t even know me just… pretending to care about me so much. No one had ever cared about me, besides Jongdae, besides the rare foster parent. It just… _god,_ it annoyed me so fucking much.”

 

“Just weren’t used to it?” Yixing asks. His voice comes out a lot smaller than he expects.

 

Baekhyun shakes his head, mouth downturned into an unpleasant scowl. “Felt like they wanted something from me.”

 

Yixing nods. Baekhyun hasn’t once glanced up from the fire dancing in front of him, making his dark irises flicker and glimmer along with the flames. Yixing craves to reach out, to smooth the crease between Baekhyun’s brows, to kiss him and tell him it’s okay. But he’s stuck in his place. Waiting for Baekhyun to say anything more.

 

“So, I failed them.”

 

Yixing, who had at some point turned back to watch the fire alongside Baekhyun, turns his head back to look at the boy in question, curious. Baekhyun turns to look up at him, meeting his gaze with this ferocious sense of regret, remorse. Yixing feels it in the pit of his belly.

 

Baekhyun says, “After they restarted my heart, my chest would get these aches for the longest time. Like this reminder in my ribs, reminding me how fucking stupid I was.”

 

“Jesus, Baek-”

 

“I’d never seen Jongdae so distressed, not even…” he trails off, turns back to the fire. His eyes, his frown, sink his face into something thoughtful. Reflective. Still palpably remorseful. “So, yeah. Feels good to burn this.”

 

Yixing nods, earnest. “Yeah, I would think so.”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t respond for a little while. He just continues to frown at the fire before he sighs, reaches into the bag for the last few shreddings and throws them in. “Thanks for listening to me.”

 

“Of course,” Yixing replies, shaking his head. He can’t believe Baekhyun would even _thank_ Yixing, just for being a listening ear, just for _being here._ “You can tell me anything, I-”

 

He quickly runs out of things to say.

 

With a shake of his head, a small chuckle on his lips, Baekhyun looks significantly lighter. Brighter and softer, like all tension has washed out from his muscles and into the grass beneath his feet. He reaches a hand out, takes Yixing’s elbow in his grip and steps in close to his side.

 

He leans his head on his shoulder, says, “Where were you, like, five years ago?”

 

Yixing bathes in the warmth of Baekhyun’s skin against his side. “Behind the counter in the music store.”

 

Baekhyun snorts, turning his head to press his face into Yixing’s shoulder. He plants a kiss there. He says nothing.

 

They stand there in the peace and quiet until the fire begins to die out.

“We should go,” Baekhyun whispers. Yixing agrees in the form of putting the fire out and collecting the torn up garbage bags in his arms.

 

They climb into the truck, head out on the road, drive in even more silence. It’s strange, Yixing thinks, as Baekhyun is never this quiet. Usually he talks endlessly and inexhaustibly but tonight… he’s just so quiet. And when Yixing glances over at him he can’t help but find he looks a little lost in his head.

 

Hesitantly, Yixing asks, “You alright, Baek?”

 

“There’s a meteor shower coming up in a few weeks,” he says instead of an answer, looking up at the evening sky above them through the passenger door window. “When I was twelve I had this foster mom. You know her, Mrs. Jung?”

 

Yixing smiles and nods his head. She was kind of famous around their town, the honorary mother of every kid that populated their city. Ovarian cancer made it impossible for her to have children, so she fostered practically every child that went through the system at some point or another. She was always the sweetest woman, trustworthy and gentle. She had actually babysat Yixing on a few occasions.

 

“Her husband was nice, too, but he worked so much to support her and the three billion children she took care of. I sobbed like a baby at her funeral. I think I was like? Sixteen?”

 

“Yeah, I remember that,” Yixing says, stopping at a red light. “I went too.”

 

Baekhyun smiles at him, as if to muse about the small world they live in. Then, he turns his head to look out the window again. “Anyway. Living with her was probably the best time in my life. There was a meteor shower one night in the summer. She took me and a few of the other older kids out into the bush where their cottage was and we watched all the shooting stars.”

 

Yixing, a little flabbergasted by all this _sharing_ that Baekhyun is doing, completely unprompted, just says, “That sounds really nice.”

 

“It was,” Baekhyun responds with a sigh. “I always look out for upcoming meteor showers but I can’t go watch them by myself without a car and… I don’t have anyone I’d want to go see it with.”

 

“It’s too special?”

 

Baekhyun smiles softly, looks down at his hands in his lap. “Yeah.”

 

They arrive at Baekhyun’s apartment, then, park in the gravel parking lot and climb out of the truck with surprisingly tired joints. It isn’t even late, but both of them are groaning into popping joints as they stretch their arms above their heads and make their way into the building. The stairs creak, the lock needs to be jiggled, and Baekhyun is flicking on the light in his apartment.

 

“Spend the night,” Baekhyun says. He doesn’t ask.

 

“I work in the morning.”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Wear something of mine.”

 

Yixing can’t help but smirk. “Do you have any shirts that aren’t tailored to fit the iron giant?”

 

Baekhyun snorts before stepping into Yixing’s space and wrapping his arms around his waist. He rests his cheek against Yixing’s chest and lets out a slightly sad sigh and Yixing just wraps him up in his arms and keeps him there. Squeezes good and tight just to feel how Baekhyun melts a little in his hold.

 

“Please?”

 

Yixing has a list of things he wants to say to Baekhyun. He wants to thank him for sharing so freely. For trusting him. He wants to tell him he cares, he _cares deeply,_ and not because he wants something from him. He wants to tell him that he’s warm, that his hair smells nice, that Yixing is feeling too much too quickly and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

But he just doesn’t have the words for any of it.

 

So he says, “Of course.”

 

Sometime later, when they’re both burrowed under the covers, Yixing lays on his back and watches the stars outside the window above Baekhyun’s bed. He’s too warm, with Baekhyun wrapped snugly around him, legs tangled, an arm across his belly, his head pillowed heavily on Yixing’s chest. His breath, open-mouthed and slow with sleep, burns hot through the cotton of Yixing’s shirt. Despite all the heat that’s basically suffocating him, Yixing believes he has never felt so comfortable. He’s pretty sure that’s _always_ the case with Baekhyun.

 

“I always say too much with you,” Baekhyun murmurs, long after Yixing had thought he’d fallen asleep.

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Yixing whispers.

 

Baekhyun clenches his fist into the fabric of Yixing’s shirt. It tickles his waist, but he forces down his reflexive reaction.

 

“I hate it.”

 

“I’m... sorry you feel that way.”

 

It pains Yixing that Baekhyun feels as though he shouldn’t trust him so much. Not for necessarily selfish reasons, he’s pretty sure. But because he feels like Baekhyun shouldn’t be so afraid to let his guard down at all. To anyone.

 

Another moment stretches. The stars hanging proudly and sweetly in the inky night sky spark a thought in him.

 

“Would you watch a meteor shower with me?”

 

There’s nothing but measured breaths from Baekhyun for so long, Yixing has convinced himself the mop of hair on his chest has fallen asleep.

 

Until, finally, Baekhyun says, “yeah.”

 

Just _yeah._

 

\-----

 

Yixing isn’t normally a big fan of parties. They’re loud and crowded, while Yixing far prefers the peace and quiet. But, Baekhyun had asked him nicely to come with him tonight, so here he is, on a sweltering night during the tail end of June, standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. At least he’s surrounded by familiar people.

 

The house is owned by Baekhyun’s friend Junmyeon, and upon meeting him, Yixing recognized him as one of the teachers at the elementary school a few blocks over from Yixing’s apartment. He’s friendly and he’s kind, and Yixing had enjoyed striking up conversation with him, but as a host, he needed to mingle, so now Yixing is alone, in the kitchen, room temperature cup of beer in his hand.

 

Some time ago, Baekhyun spotted someone in the crowd he just _had_ to run to, and Yixing hasn’t seen him since.

 

A few friends and acquaintances pass by; Seulgi and Sooyoung, Jongin from his old dance classes, Joohyun who had so much to say about the lack of funding for local libraries. But, they all come and go, and Yixing is still kind of bored, trying in vain to peer over heads and find Baekhyun in the crowd. Occasionally he gets glimpses of messy, yellow hair, but he loses sight just as quickly as he caught it.

 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, but at some point he sees Seungwan walking by with Seulgi and Sooyoung, and she excitedly runs over to him to plant a friendly kiss on the cheek before scampering off to catch up with her friends. He smiles, glad to see her, even if just briefly, but at least now he knows Jongdae’s around here, somewhere.

 

As if on cue, there’s an enthusiastic _smack_ between Yixing’s shoulders. “Yixing!” shouts the instantly recognizable voice of none other than Jongdae. “Good to see you, man!”

 

“Hey, Jongdae,” Yixing says with a smile, squeezing Jongdae’s shoulder. “How are ya?”

 

Jongdae, possibly more dramatic than Baekhyun by some miracle, groans and rolls his eyes as theatrically as possible. “Stressed. This one wedding coming up next weekend has been a nightmare. No one ever warns you about the _groomzilla.”_

 

Yixing laughs, takes a sip of his gross, warm beer. He sneers as he leans over the counter to dump the rest down the sink.

 

“But, otherwise, I’m good,” Jongdae continues. Then, he smirks. “Hope you don’t mind if I take Baekhyun away for a couple days.”

 

Yixing shrugs, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hey, duty calls.”

 

Jongdae nods. “The only problem with hiring your best friend is you start to feel guilty for making them work.”

 

Yixing, by some miracle, finds a bottle of water in the cooler by his feet. He takes a sip, and he and Jongdae just stand there for a little while, watching the party happen around them. There’s a loud cheer from the living room, where a majority of the crowd has gathered, and Yixing gets the sneaking suspicion Baekhyun is somehow at the centre of it.

 

Mostly, however, Yixing is standing there thinking. Thinking about what Jongdae said. Thinking about what Baekhyun said all those weeks ago. He takes another sip of water.

 

“Well, it’s a nice thing you have hired him,” Yixing says. “He mentioned something about being unhirable.”

 

Jongdae’s eyebrows shoot up as he nods solemnly in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, it’s technically totally illegal that he’s working at all.”

 

Yixing nearly chokes on his next sip of water. “What?”

 

Jongdae shrugs. “If disability knew he was working the odd job for me they’d stop sending him checks.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t realize-”

 

Jongdae dismisses Yixing’s concern with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, Baek has a lot of secrets, but being on disability isn’t one of them. He doesn’t really care who knows.”

 

Yixing just shrugs in agreement. It’s not particularly important information. The only question he does have, though, is for what reason Baekhyun collects disability. He’s torn between asking and feeling like he’s pestering. It’s always safer to just mind your own business.

 

“I mean,” Jongdae continues, “after two near-death experiences, it only makes sense.”

 

Yixing nods, then blinks. Hold on.

 

“Two?” He asks, frowning at Jongdae.

 

Jongdae blinks back at him. “Yeah?”

 

“I know about the eating disorder, but…”

 

“Oh,” Jongdae says. He chews on his cheek. “Then, I’ve said too much.”

 

Yixing can’t help but laugh, thinking he sounds an awful lot like Baekhyun.

 

“It’s not my place to share,” Jongdae says, sounding a tad apologetic. “You’ll just have to wait for him to tell you himself.”

 

“It’s okay,” Yixing reassures him. “I’d expect nothing less.”

 

At that point, Baekhyun reemerges out of nowhere, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed hot pink. He practically floats over to them, right up to Yixing, grabs him by the collar and pulls him in for a kiss. When he pulls back, Yixing has a chance to look at him, and his eyes look blown out and foggy and it makes Yixing frown.

 

He has no time to react, however, as Baekhyun is already spinning on his heel and wandering back into the crowd, laughing at nothing.

 

Weird.

 

He and Jongdae just stand there for a bit, watching as Baekhyun climbs onto the coffee table with Sooyoung, both of them dancing and laughing and absorbing up the attention of everyone around them. Jongdae sighs, pulling Yixing out of his own little world.

 

“The point is,” Jongdae says, continuing their conversation from before, “the checks just aren’t enough for him to _really_ support himself. So it’s either he lives with me, or I pay him under the table. And he deserves to have _some_ independence.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “Makes total sense to me.”

 

He can see Jongdae smiling at him from the corner of his eye. “I like you, Yixing.”

 

“Thanks,” Yixing laughs, “the feeling’s mutual.”

 

There’s a crash, followed by a chorus of loud laughter, drawing their attention back to the living room. They see Baekhyun being hoisted back up onto the coffee table, his face twisted up in the most hysterical of laughter, before he swings an arm over Sooyoung’s shoulder and gets right back to dancing like it’s his last day on earth. Yixing’s pretty sure the music isn’t even something you _can_ dance to. Yet, somehow, Baekhyun manages, with his eyes fluttering shut and his head tossed back toward the ceiling.

 

Yixing frowns. “Is he-”

 

“Yeah,” Jongdae says. “He has a habit of doing that. Just takes whatever's handed to him.” A sigh, then a shrug. “His regular meds never take all that kindly to it.”

 

Something churns in Yixing’s gut. He doesn’t like it at all. “Right.”

 

“I’m assuming you’re leaving with him, tonight?”

 

Yixing scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I live closer to here than he does.”

 

“Okay,” Jongdae says, nodding. He takes a long time to continue, but Yixing still waits, pretty certain that he has more to say. It takes a while, but eventually, with a sympathetic smile, he says, “Don’t take it personally when he’s grumpy with you in the morning.”

 

Yixing barks out a laugh, not at all expecting Jongdae to say that.

 

“I mean it!” Jongdae defends himself, unable to keep himself from laughing as well. “It happens every time he takes some mystery pill at a party, he’s going to be Satan come morning.”

 

Yixing is still chuckling, shaking his head to himself. “I think I can handle it.”

 

“Good.” He huffs out a breath. “Baekhyun is… at least he’s better.”

 

And with that, Jongdae confirms just about every suspicion Yixing has had about Baekhyun. _At least he’s better._ That just perfectly sums him up. Baekhyun is still very much sad, and has those cracks in the glass. His facade is not without falter. He’s healed, but with plenty of scar tissue.

 

_But at least-_

 

_He’s better._

 

He doesn’t remain at the party too much longer. It starts to die down, after less than an hour, and Yixing has long lost Jongdae to Seungwan’s attention, but that’s alright. He searches for Baekhyun, goes into every room on the ground floor, makes his way upstairs. He runs into a few people that strike up small talk with him; people he went to school with, or he taught them an instrument, or they work nearby, or they grew up on the same block. But, he still continues his manhunt. Opens one bedroom door to find Junmyeon and Joohyun in a compromising position, to which he shuts the door before anyone notices the intrusion - a little scarred, no less. Opens another to a neatly made bed and not much else. He hears loud singing coming from behind the door at the end of the hall, so with a curious etch in his brow he makes his way over.

 

It’s a bathroom inside, complete with about six people packed in; laying in the tub, sitting on the counter, laying on the floor. Far too many people in one tiny area, all loudly and happily singing some song Yixing recognizes from the radio.

 

In the middle of the room, laying on the floor with his head in some guy’s lap, is Baekhyun. His eyes are closed but his smile is wide as he sings along with all the laughing people around him, the guy’s fingers stroking gently through Baekhyun’s hair. It’s an amusing sight, and Yixing kinda hates to interrupt, but he thinks it’s about time he gets Baekhyun home to bed.

 

The song reaches its finale, and Yixing clears his throat. Twelve eyes turn to look at him.

 

“Hey, Baek,” he says, a lot quieter than the noise that filled the room just seconds before, “ready to head out?”

 

Baekhyun closes his eyes again, burrows himself further into the lap he’s resting on. “But Sehunnie’s so _comfyyyy!”_

 

Yixing can’t help but chuckle fondly, shaking his head. “It’s late, baby.”

 

At that, Baekhyun slowly untangles himself from his seat on the floor. “Ah, the petnames,” he mutters under his breath. Then, he looks up at Yixing with accusatory narrowed eyes. “You knew that would work, didn’t you?”

 

Yixing doesn’t want to look at Baekhyun’s dilated pupils, or the dopey smile on his face, or the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. So, instead, he looks at the hallway ahead of them. Baekhyun shouts his goodbyes to everyone in the room behind him, then scrambles along to catch up with Yixing, wrapping an arm around his bicep.

 

“How ya feelin’?” Yixing asks as they step through the front door into the humid air outside.

 

“Grrrreat!”

 

Yixing laughs. “Alright, Tony the Tiger.” They find Yixing’s truck parked on the street. He opens the passenger door for Baekhyun. “What do you say we get you home, showered, and put in bed.”

 

“Can’t forget hydrated,” Baekhyun tacks on.

 

“Right,” Yixing chuckles, climbing into the driver’s seat, “can’t forget hydrated.”

 

“Just ‘cause I’m high, doesn’t mean I can’t be responsible.”

 

_“Well.”_

 

The ride home is quiet, save for the restless bouncing of Baekhyun’s knee. It doesn’t take long, either, soon pulling into Yixing's parking lot and making their way in. Baekhyun makes sure to be holding tightly onto Yixing’s hand all the way up to his apartment, ever so clingy and affectionate.

 

Baekhyun must be slowly crashing, because he’s quiet in the shower, as Yixing lathers shampoo in his hair. Does nothing but smile tiredly and sweetly when Yixing comments on how long his roots are getting. He changes into pajamas without any complaint, he downs a glass of water in record time, and soon, he’s curled up in Yixing’s bed, under Yixing’s sheets, looking impossibly tiny curled up in a little ball.

 

With a small smile, Yixing flicks off his bedroom light and climbs under the blankets next to Baekhyun. His back is facing him, but Yixing doesn’t mind, just reaches a hand out to run his fingers through Baekhyun’s damp hair, brush it back over his ear. There’s a hum, coming from the Baekhyun-shaped lump, and it makes Yixing smile before scooting in closer to press his chest to Baekhyun’s back, curl his knees up behind Baekhyun’s, wrap a careful arm around Baekhyun’s waist.

 

Baekhyun hums again, sounding equal parts sleepy and pleased. “Thanks for caring for me.”

 

“Of course, Baek.”

 

“‘Night.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

Pressed up against him like this, Yixing can feel the way Baekhyun’s heartbeat batters against ribs at a rate far too fast for someone who’s falling asleep.

 

\-----

 

Yixing hears him before he sees him.

 

He’d woken this morning to Baekhyun drooling a puddle onto his shoulder, and despite how it’s undeniably pretty gross, it had made Yixing chuckle to himself before detangling himself from Baekhyun’s vice-like grip and change into a new shirt.

 

Now, as he stands over the stove, flipping a pancake to cook the other side, he hears the sound of a dresser drawer being slammed shut. Followed, naturally, by Baekhyun’s frustrated grumbling. Then, followed by Baekhyun waddling groggily into the kitchen and pulling one of Yixing’s sweatshirts over his head.

 

“Your dresser drawer needs to be fixed,” he grumbles.

 

Yixing nods. “Yeah, it’s been getting stuck lately.”

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Baekhyun plunks down into the stool at the island, lays his head down on the cool countertop. “My head fucking kills. I need fucking coffee. _I need a fucking smoke._ Fuck.”

 

Yixing can’t help but laugh.

 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

 

It’s said with a sharp and vicious tongue. Yixing is still smiling to himself as he watches the pancake cooking on the frying pan in front of him. “Well, I’m sure your head would hurt less if you hadn’t -- what did you even take last night?”

 

He glances over his shoulder to see Baekhyun roll his eyes. “Does it even concern you?”

 

“Kinda?”

 

“It doesn’t.”

 

Yixing puts his hands up in defense, shrugging. “Alright.”

 

A palpably thick silence falls between them. It settles like a film over Yixing’s skin. There’s just the sizzling of the food in the pan, the gurgling of the coffee maker. But it’s all remarkably quiet in comparison to the volume of the silence.

 

Just to break it, he says, “I’m making pancakes!”

 

“I see that,” Baekhyun deadpans. “I don’t want any.”

 

Yixing frowns, transfers the cooked pancake onto the plate with the others, pours more batter onto his pan. The sizzling starts off loud before dying into background noise.

 

“Sure, you do.”

 

“Actually, Yixing, I _really don’t.”_

 

His words settle like acid, making Yixing’s belly churn. He feels uncomfortable, he feels out of place. Baekhyun sounds bitter and unimpressed and utterly, completely, entirely _grumpy._

 

“Jongdae was right,” Yixing can’t help but say to himself.

 

“About what?” Baekhyun asks, though his tone suggests he couldn’t care less about an answer.

 

Yixing plops the last pancake onto the pile of pancakes and turns off the burner, tossing the pan into the sink. He turns around to put the plate on the island and says, “He warned me that you’d be grouchy this morning.”

 

Baekhyun looks completely appalled, and greatly offended. Something tightens in Yixing’s chest, so he turns around to start collecting stuff from the kitchen, plates and forks and mugs for coffee. He hears Baekhyun scoff to himself as he sifts through the dishwasher for clean forks.

 

“Okay, first of all, why _the fuck_ are you two just talking about me like I’m the weather, or like some pet you have to look after for the evening?” Baekhyun says, his voice verging on shrill. “ _Warned you_ \- what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Like, sorry I’m just a person and I’m not a fucking ray of sunshine all the time.”

 

Yixing just lets him rant. He barely throws him a glance as he puts the utensils out on the island and turns back around to collect plates and mugs.

 

“Also,” Baekhyun continues, “I’m a little pissed off that after _everything I told you recently,_ you still have the gall to wake up and make me pancakes and just… _assume?_ That I’m going to want to eat it? Newsflash, eating disorders don’t take kindly to syru- _WILL YOU STOP WANDERING AROUND YOUR KITCHEN AND JUST LOOK AT ME?”_

 

Yixing takes a breath before turning around and placing a stack of two plates on the island. He’s still gripping onto their edges as he meets Baekhyun’s eye.

 

And, sure, even if it is just the after effects of whatever Baekhyun took last night, just a wicked bout of grumpiness, the one thing that matters is that… Baekhyun’s upset. That’s what _really_ matters. It makes no difference if Baekhyun’s anger is mostly misguided, or a catalyst of something else entirely. He’s upset. Yixing hurt his feelings.

 

Most importantly, Yixing made a pretty big assumption, cooking all these pancakes.

 

“I’m so-”

 

“You know what?” Baekhyun interrupts, pushing the plate of pancakes away from him, even though they weren’t even put in front of him. He pushes the stool back, the loud shrieking of the legs skidding against the floor as he quickly scrambles up from his seat. “I’m leaving.”

 

“Baekhyun-”

 

“No, it’s whatever,” he bites, bending down to slip his boots on. He doesn’t bother to lace them up as he swings Yixing’s door open. It’s pretty hard to miss the tearful quake in his voice when he says,  “Obviously I just need to go _cool down,_ or whatever.”

 

And then he slams Yixing’s door shut behind him.

 

Yixing sighs, stares at the door a little longer. Then, he turns to pour himself a cup of coffee, takes a cautious sip, burns his tongue. He stares at the pile of pancakes and the steam rising from them until there’s no more steam and they’re surely cold - like the mug of coffee he’s taken one sip from.

 

He throws them in the garbage.

 

\-----

 

Yixing doesn’t really expect to see Baekhyun walking into the shop on a cloudy Monday evening.

 

Mostly, he doesn’t expect it because he hasn’t heard anything from Baekhyun in over a week. Not even after Yixing had called and apologized, after meeting Kyungsoo and Chanyeol at the cafe that same Sunday that they had their spat. They urged him to call and apologize, even if he didn’t supply them with too much detail about the exact thing that upset Baekhyun. He had left a voicemail, genuine and sincere in his apology, because even if Baekhyun’s reaction wasn’t entirely called for, he was still fairly upset. And Yixing hadn’t been expecting to be forgiven so quickly.

 

Also, however, he’s surprised to see Baekhyun here, in the shop, a place he hasn’t stepped foot in in _years._ This time with yellow hair and rosy cheeks and a curious glimmer in his eyes as he slowly walks through the store and observes just about everything there is to see.

 

Clearly, this is just as strange for Baekhyun as it is for Yixing.

 

He stares the longest at the grand piano in the middle of the store, off center from where the counter is situated at the back, by the corner. His lips are pressed together and he’s thoughtful, pensive, and noticeably hesitant. Like all of a sudden he feels like it’s a mistake to be in here.

 

Yixing doesn’t say anything. He just waits for Baekhyun to speak.

 

“Everything is different,” Baekhyun says, slowly, softly, like he’s mostly speaking to himself. He points a finger to the piano. “Except for that-” he redirects the finger to point at Yixing “-and you.”

 

He approaches the counter, softly smiling at Yixing as he places something on the counter between them. Yixing glances down, sees that it’s the sweater Baekhyun had been wearing when he stormed out last Sunday. He takes in a sharp breath through his nose.

 

“Baekhyun, I’m sor-”

 

“No, don’t apologize,” Baekhyun interrupts, shaking his head. “Seriously. You’ve already apologized, which was… completely unnecessary.”

 

“It wasn’t.”

 

“It was. I totally overreacted, I should have apologized to _you_ right away, but. I was embarrassed.”

 

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Baekhyun chews nervously on his bottom lip, wrings his hands together over the sweatshirt folded neatly on the countertop. Yixing takes the chance to get a good look at him. His hair looks a little greasy, his face a little sunken, he looks awfully tired. Like something has been bothering him, haunting him. Yixing feels a pang in his chest.

 

Baekhyun continues, “I knew I had to apologize the second I left your apartment, but at that point I was sobbing, even though I didn’t know _why,_ and I was just… embarrassed. That I just lost my shit on you like that.

 

“You were so patient with me and took such good care of me. Actually, you take such good care of me, like, _all the time._ And, I mean, you don’t know my boundaries, I can’t dictate what you want to make me for breakfast. Honestly, I fuckin’ love pancakes, I was just in a shit ass mood and-”

 

“Baek.”

 

Baekhyun closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

 

“Long story short,” he says, much calmer than he had been speaking before, “I felt like an idiot. And Jongdae gave me a good lecturing this weekend while we were working, so I got up the courage to come talk to you.”

 

Yixing smiles at Baekhyun, trying to show with just that small gesture, how much he understands. He reaches for the sweater, takes it in one hand, and takes one of Baekhyun’s with the other.

 

“Thank you for apologizing, Baekhyun,” Yixing says. “I didn’t need the apology, but I appreciate the explanation. So thank you.”

 

“Ah!” Baekhyun whispers, looking up at the ceiling with eyes that are looking a little glassy. “I’ve been crying for no reason so much lately, I feel like my meds have stopped working.”

 

Yixing frowns. “Maybe you should let your doctor know.”

 

That just makes tears fall faster, and Baekhyun laughs bashfully at himself as he brings his hands up to press his palms into his eyes. “Yixing, the more nice and understanding you are the more I’ll cry.”

 

“Okay, I’m sorry, I uh… I hate you.”

 

That makes Baekhyun laugh loudly, though wetly. Yixing just waits while Baekhyun composes himself, dropping his hands to his side to look around the shop, sniffling and red in the face. Yixing puts the sweater on one of the shelves underneath the counter and returns to filling out his inventory checklist before he needs to close up tonight.

 

“It’s so weird, being in here,” Baekhyun says, startling the peaceful silence that had fallen over the space around them. “I suddenly feel nineteen and terrified all over again.”

 

Yixing looks up from his checklist to see Baekhyun staring at the piano. His gaze looks longing, thoughtful, distant. Yixing cocks his head to the side.

 

“Did you want to play?”

 

Baekhyun startles, whipping his head to look back at Yixing with wide eyes. “No, no,” Baekhyun says, forcing a smile. “I don’t play anymore, remember?”

 

And Yixing sees it. That poorly applied mask that becomes more transparent the more Yixing sees it. Through his amiable laugh and dismissive wave of his hand, Yixing sees the _fear_ and the _sadness_ that fills Baekhyun from the inside out. It makes Yixing frown, despite the way Baekhyun is smiling, but he doesn’t bother to comment on it.

 

He sighs. “I have some things I need to bring to my mom after I close tonight, if you’d like to stick around a little longer. I promise she’s good company.”

 

“Ah, no thanks,” Baekhyun says with a gentle smile. Yixing likes this smile, tight lipped and his cheeks balled up into little apples. “I came here to talk to you, and I accomplished that, so…”

 

“Yeah, alright,” Yixing says with a nod.

 

“I’ll get going, then,” Baekhyun says. “I should let you close up.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Baekhyun hesitates before leaving. He looks at Yixing for a bit, pondering, wringing his hands together nervously again. Then, he leans over the counter, curls fingers into the front of Yixing’s shirt, and gives him a sweet, brief kiss.

 

Yixing hums, lifting a hand to grab the back of Baekhyun’s head before he could pull too far away, and drags him into another kiss. This one a little deeper, a little more deliberate. Yixing can taste the salt left over from his tears.

 

There’s a dazed little look on Baekhyun’s face as he eventually pulls away. “I’ll call you,” he whispers.

 

“I’m counting on it,” Yixing responds, watching as Baekhyun turns around and leaves the shop, the door jingling behind him.

 

Yixing takes a deep breath, and continues closing up for the night. It’s peaceful, like always. Quiet and calm. Yixing likes closing up, time to let his mind wander as he dusts shelves and counts the cash. It doesn’t take him long, as Mondays are never all that busy, anyway, and soon he’s going into the backroom to grab the box of dishes he needs to bring to his mother, and makes his way out the door to lock up and head out.

 

He loads the box into the passenger seat, and begins his drive to his mom’s house. He winds through the streets of the neighbourhood he was raised in until he’s pulling into the driveway and turning off the engine. His mother is already waiting for him, holding the door open for him to carry the box inside the house.

 

“Hi, honey,” she greets with a kiss on the cheek as he puts the box down on the kitchen table.

 

“Hey, ma,” he says. “I can’t believe you always get me to pick up dishes for you, just so you can break them.”

 

She pinches his cheek. “You oversimplify it every time, you brat.”

 

She gestures for him to follow, so he picks up the box again and follows her down the hallway to her little studio. Yixing wasn’t allowed into the studio until he was a teenager, his mother claiming that all the broken dishes and vases were too dangerous for a child to be around. Yixing always kinda knew it was because she didn’t want him spilling or wasting her paints.

 

He puts the box down on an empty spot on one of the desks, then takes a moment to glance around the room. Many porcelain bowls or vases or plates or teacups or _anything,_ all scattered about on all of the shelves, all broken once before and glued back together with intricate, winding designs. Whether with gold or with silver. Repainted with the most careful of hands, stunning in all their restructured glory.

 

His mother has run her little _kintsugi_ business since as long as Yixing can remember. It took him until he became an adult for him to truly understand the beauty in it. His mother is a true master of her work.

 

“Stay for tea?” she asks.

 

“Always.”

 

Yixing sits at the kitchen table while his mother stands over the stove, waiting for the kettle to boil. Just like her craft, she’s careful and meticulous with everything she does. Carefully measures the tea leaves, perfectly arranges the teacups on their saucers. Yixing just watches her back, shrunken with age, her messy ponytail greying around the edges.

 

She places a steaming cup in front of Yixing, then takes a seat adjacent to him.

 

“You seem to be in good spirits,” she says, her eyes smiling at him from over the rim of her teacup. “Is it that boy you mentioned?”

 

Yixing can’t help but smile into his sip. “Yeah. He’s… it’s never a dull moment with him.”

 

“What was his name again?”

 

“Baekhyun.”

 

She hums, thoughtful. “Baekhyun. Bo Xian. _Wise man.”_

 

He can’t help but laugh softly at that. “I don’t know, ma,” he says with a shake of his head. “He seems pretty good at making poor choices. He’s a little impulsive.”

 

“Perhaps there’s still something you can learn from him.”

 

Yixing only nods, looking down at the tea in his cup. They drink their tea in peace for a little bit. He tries to think of all the things he can learn from Baekhyun. He isn’t sure what exactly there is.

 

“Have you heard from your cousin lately?” his mother asks.

 

Yixing shakes his head. “Nah, I haven’t spoken to Lu Han in a couple months, actually.”

 

His mother hums, takes another sip of her tea. “He’s doing really well. His company just transferred him to the branch in Hong Kong so he’s moving there next month.”

 

“That’s awesome,” Yixing says. “He always was a dreamer. One of those kids who wanted to accomplish everything.”

 

His mother doesn’t say anything for a little while. She just watches Yixing for a little bit, an inexplicable taste of hopefulness, or sadness in her gaze. She nods, after a little while. Puts her cup on the saucer with a little clink.

 

Yixing doesn’t like the silence, so he says, “Good for him.”

 

“Yes,” his mother agrees with a soft, almost whisper-like voice. “Good for him.”

 

\-----

 

It’s _way_ too hot to be doing this, but Yixing knows it’s worth it.

 

His t-shirt is sticking to his back as he struggles - in the heat of mid-July - to arrange the thin foam mattress in the box of his truck. It keeps trying to roll up into a tube, again, so Yixing had to rearrange it to lay down the opposite way. He swears he can feel his neighbours watching from the windows in their apartment as he struggles with this in the parking lot.

 

Eventually, it starts to lay flat. The sun is about to start setting soon, so Yixing rubs his hands on his jeans and calls it a job well done, before going inside to quickly shower and change into something more comfortable.

 

It’s nearly nine in the evening by the time he’s heading back out to his truck, an armful of pillows and blankets with him. He tosses them in the backseat, not trusting they’ll last the entire trip in the box, and climbs into the driver’s seat to turn the engine on.

 

When he pulls up to Baekhyun’s building, he’s expecting to have to go up and get him. Baekhyun surprises him by already running out toward the truck, an excited bounce in his step and a stupid little grin on his face. Yixing supposes he wasn’t lying when he said he really loves surprises.

 

“Hey,” Baekhyun says as he climbs into the passenger seat. He leans across the console to give Yixing a kiss. He spots the bundle of blankets in the backseat and then narrows his eyes at Yixing. “You gonna tell me where you’re taking me, now?”

 

Yixing only supplies a tight-lipped smile and shakes his head.

 

“This is the most suspenseful date ever,” Baekhyun huffs as he sinks back in his seat.

 

“Suspenseful or exciting?” Yixing pulls back out onto the road and makes way toward the highway.

 

A huff. “Both.” Then, Baekhyun gets a playful little smirk on his lips. “Only exciting ‘cause it’s with you, though.”

 

Yixing laughs and reaches across the console to pat Baekhyun’s leg. They drive in the quiet for a little while. Baekhyun fusses with the radio for a bit before he curls up in his seat to dramatically pout about there being no music, which just makes Yixing laugh again.

 

They’ve been driving out on the highway for a good ten minutes now. Nothing but mostly barren farmland and forestry surrounds them, civilization either behind them or far ahead. Yixing can tell Baekhyun is getting antsy, so he pinches the skin above Baekhyun’s knee to get his attention.

 

“Do you know what day it is?”

 

Baekhyun blinks. “July fourteenth?”

 

“And do you know what’s happening today?”

 

There’s a moment where Baekhyun just blinks at him, confused. Yixing waits with a patient smile and taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

 

Baekhyun gasps.

 

“The meteor shower.”

 

Then he says nothing more, just turns to look out the passenger window and stare at the night sky above them. Yixing glances over at him to see that his expression is pensive and thoughtful. He had been nervous that he may have overstepped boundaries, taking Baekhyun out to watch a meteor shower like this. But, worse comes to worst, they can just turn around and find something else to do.

 

“Is that alright?” he asks after Baekhyun had gone nearly five minutes without a peep.

 

He turns back to look at Yixing, the warmest, gentlest smile on his lips. “It’s perfect. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do tonight.”

 

Yixing’s veins flood with relief. “I’m glad.”

 

“Did you think I’d say no?”

 

Yixing laughs embarrassedly, runs a hand through his hair. “You said it was special to you.”

 

“I also said I would watch one with you.”

 

Yixing can’t help the soft, pleasant smile that lifts the corners of his lips. “Fair enough.”

 

They drive in more comfortable silence, save for a couple more complaints from Baekhyun about there being no music. But, it’s nice. Baekhyun just rests his head on the window and looks out at the world zooming past them, and Yixing just drives and thinks, drives and thinks.

 

He thinks about how significant it is, the fact that he’s able to take Baekhyun out to do this. He knows how important it is to Baekhyun, and that there’s a reason he hasn’t seen one since he was twelve.

 

He wonders why Baekhyun is willing to watch one _with him._ He wonders what makes him, specifically, special enough to qualify. Is it because he’s proven himself trustworthy to Baekhyun? Or does Baekhyun just like him enough, nothing more to it?

 

“So why a truck?” Baekhyun asks out of nowhere, yanking Yixing out of the headspace he had just been drowning in.

 

He breathes a breath of fresh air. “It was given to my family by the Kims. They had purchased a new truck for their farm and gave this one to my _yehyeh_ for delivering heavy instruments and stuff.”

 

Baekhyun nods, hums his understanding.

 

“So, now, it’s mine,” Yixing says.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

Yixing blinks. “What do you mean?”

 

“To watch the shower. Where are we going?”

 

“Oh,” Yixing says. He checks his rearview mirror, even though all he sees is darkness behind him. “I know a place.”

 

Baekhyun groans. “Well, I hope it isn’t far. I’m losing my mind sitting here without anything to listen to.”

 

“Sing us a song, then.”

 

Baekhyun snorts. “Oh, _god,_ no.”

 

“Oh, come on!”

 

“I promise you do _not_ want to hear that.”

 

“Sure I do!” Yixing says. “You sounded pretty decent singing in that bathroom a few weeks back, all things considered.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

 

“Sing us a song, piano man!”

 

“I _literally_ don’t even play anymore.”

 

Yixing can’t help but laugh. “I couldn’t pass up the joke.”

 

He turns his head to look at Baekhyun, sees him looking back at Yixing with this shimmer of amusement in his gaze. He shakes his head with a little smirk on his lips. Yixing turns back to the road ahead of them.

 

“You’re so fuckin’ weird, Zhang.”

 

Yixing smiles. “You like it.”

 

“Sometimes. Is it alright if I smoke in here?”

 

“Yeah, man, just crack the window.”

 

And then they drive the rest of the way in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable. It isn’t suffocating. So often Yixing finds himself overwhelmed by how much noise and activity and energy comes out of Baekhyun, and moments like these are so simple and so comfortable, that Yixing can’t help but feel like he’s being wrapped up in a fleece blanket. Wrapped up with Baekhyun, too.

 

Yixing likes his life to be peaceful and quiet and placid. His only exception is Baekhyun. But it’s still nice when he can have both.

 

It’s a little after ten by the time they’re pulling up to their destination. Just a large expanse of beautiful land, nothing but field for miles around them. Yixing pulls off the road, onto the little gravel pathway that takes them further into the field, and it’s then that Baekhyun seems to recognize where they are.

          

“Is this-”

 

“Where Kyungsoo’s brother got married, yes.”

 

Baekhyun sinks into his seat and turns his head to look at Yixing as Yixing brings the truck to a stop and kills the engine.

 

“You looked really handsome that night,” Baekhyun says.

 

Yixing feels his cheeks heat up, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “So did you,” he says. “I remember looking at you and just wanting to know everything about you.”

 

Baekhyun breaks their eye contact to look down at his hands. His lips press tight together, and he says nothing. Yixing frowns, then unbuckles his seatbelt.

 

“Welp,” Yixing says, “I guess we can go get comfy.”

 

Baekhyun looks a little confused, but still unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the truck as well. He watches as Yixing grabs the blankets and pillows from the back seat, and releases a delighted little laugh when he finally sees the foam mattress in the box of the truck.

 

“Oh, you romantic, you,” he mutters, just barely loud enough for Yixing to hear.

 

Together, they pile the pillows at the head of the box into a perfect nest for them to rest their heads on, tossing the blankets onto the mattress precariously, not too concerned with how neatly the bed is made. It looks awfully inviting, so Yixing grabs Baekhyun by the hand and drags him down onto the mattress with him.

 

“Ahh,” Yixing sighs. “This is nice.”

 

Baekhyun giggles, scooting closer to Yixing so they’re both laying flat on their backs, Baekhyun’s left side presses flush against Yixing’s right.

 

“This is _so_ nice.”

 

There’s no light at all, here in the middle of nowhere. The only light supplied is the moon and stars above, making everything around them this silvery shade, barely visible unless it’s as close as Baekhyun is to Yixing. He lays there, his head turned to the side to look at Baekhyun, who’s looking up at the sky with a contemplative little pout on his lips. He reaches into his pocket and grabs his pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and flicks on his lighter. Yixing thinks that’s not such a bad idea and does the same.

 

Baekhyun still looks like he’s putting two and two together. Yixing just gives him time.

 

“You’re my boyfriend, right?” Baekhyun finally asks. It’s certainly not a question Yixing was expecting.

 

“I mean,” he says, breathing out smoke, “if you want me to be.”

 

“Well, like-” Baekhyun says, sounding like he’s struggling to find the words. “I mean. We go on dates. We kiss, we have sex. I think you’re cute. I’m, like, ninety percent sure _you_ think _I’m_ cute.”

 

Yixing snickers, shaking his head. “Then, I’m your boyfriend, Baekhyun.”

 

“Okay,” he says, quietly. “Cool.”

 

Yixing snorts. “Cool?”

 

“Don’t make fun of me!” Baekhyun whines, rolling over to sling an arm across Yixing’s waist. “I’m your boyfriend.”

 

Yixing decides he quite likes the sound of that. “Of course. I’m terribly sorry.”

 

Baekhyun lifts the hand slung across Yixing’s stomach to take a puff of his smoke. Then, he tilts his head up to pucker his lips at Yixing. “Kiss and make up?”

 

Yixing laughs into the kiss. His head is spinning, he feels so giddy.

 

They just lay there for some time. They smoke their cigarettes and stare up at the sky and they wait. Yixing has learned that when Baekhyun is quiet, it’s because his thoughts are verging on overwhelming. He can see it in the furrow of Baekhyun’s brow, the way he chews either his lip or his cheek. His thoughts swim behind his irises and spin in vicious circles.

 

And the only thing Yixing can do is just give him time.

 

“Man, I haven’t had a boyfriend since… well, no, I guess Yifan would count,” Baekhyun eventually says. At this point he’s already finished his first smoke, and is pulling another out of his pack. Yixing figures it’s gonna be one of those nights. “Though, I didn’t really know anything about him. That was kinda the attitude in rehab, we talked so much about our issues in therapy and with the nurses nobody… no one wanted to do any more sharing than we needed to.”

 

Yixing pulls out his own pack and lights his second cigarette. Baekhyun rolls back over onto his back, looking up at the sky, like Yixing is.

 

Baekhyun says, “We never had group together because he was being treated for something totally different and… that’s all I really knew. Besides that he was attractive and he thought I was attractive.”

 

“How romantic,” Yixing teases.

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, nudges Yixing with his elbow. “I guess he didn’t really count as a boyfriend, then.”

 

“So, then, you haven’t had a boyfriend since…”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t complete the sentence right away. They lay there in the quiet and in the darkness. The end of Baekhyun’s cigarette glows a vivid orange as he takes a drag, briefly illuminating his face in the warmth before it’s gone again. Yixing watches him, carefully observing every crease in his expression. Every crack in his mask.

 

“I hate talking about my past,” Baekhyun says. “It feels useless, it feels- I just… I see no point in looking over my shoulder, you know?”

 

It sounds to Yixing like Baekhyun is still living with that attitude he had back in rehab. Like sharing is unnecessary. He reaches between them to take Baekhyun’s hand in his and squeezes.

 

“It’s not about _having_ to share. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But it’s also okay to reflect on it sometimes.”

 

Baekhyun whips his head around to look at Yixing, a furrow in his brow and a contemplative frown on his lips. He studies Yixing’s face, intently, his eyes visibly tracing every line in Yixing’s face. Like he’s searching for a flaw, a sign of dishonesty, _something._

 

“I guess since you’re my boyfriend, now,” Baekhyun starts, “there are some things you need to know. I mean-” he laughs, cynically “-I’m a lot to take care of.”

 

“It’s no use keeping secrets.”

 

Baekhyun stares a little longer, so Yixing stares back. The pale moonlight softens all the lines in Baekhyun’s face. He’s so beautiful Yixing figures he could just stare at him for possibly forever.

 

He takes a long, meditative drag of his cigarette, and blows the smoke right in Yixing’s face.

 

“When I was around eighteen I met this guy through my brother. He was older and he was handsome, despite being a little rough around the edges, more aged than he should be. Hardened.”

 

Somewhere in the distance, a bird crows. Baekhyun turns away from Yixing to look up at the moon, watching the sky like he’s watching some sort of screen. He’s quiet for a long while, and Yixing just lays next to him, patient.

 

“He worked with my brother, you know. All that illegal shit. I never wanted to know anything they were up to, and I still don’t really know much but… anyway.

 

“I was young and dumb and he _liked_ me, you know? Would tell me I was cute and shit. And like. I mean- an eighteen year old gay kid in a little town like ours? Options were pretty limited.”

 

Yixing chuckles a little. “Tell me about it.”

 

Baekhyun smiles around his cigarette. “So yeah. Thought I wasn’t gonna get any better. I was, like, totally obsessed, right? Especially because, I never- you know, my family life wasn’t fantastic, I was never _really_ taught how love worked, it was all just… a mess. If that makes sense?”

 

He turns, then. Their eyes immediately catch between them. Yixing doesn’t say anything, he only nods.

 

“Things were really great at the start, but, looking back… it’s only ‘cause I was so blinded by my lovesick little rose-coloured glasses.”

 

Something sinks in Yixing’s gut and churns in the most uncomfortable of ways. He’s starting to feel like he knows where this is going and it tastes pungent on his tongue and feels sticky on his skin. Soaked in unpleasantness.

 

Baekhyun, looking up at the sky again, just closes his eyes and lets his brows knit together. “He was… _aggressive_ when things weren’t going quite right. And as time went on he was aggressive when _I_ wasn’t doing things quite right, and fuck, was he ever hard to please.”

 

Yixing hates this. He hates this so much. “Baek-”

 

“He liked to hit but not as much as he liked to…” he trails off, before raising his hands into the air, curling them together, like he’s wringing the air together. Yixing’s stomach churns all over again. “He liked to strangle. And there was one day, I don’t even-”

 

A moment passes before Baekhyun releases a shattered, quivering breath, and Yixing realizes he’s crying. He scoots closer, and Baekhyun just tosses the butt of his cigarette aside and covers his face with his hands.

 

“ _This_ is why I hate thinking about what’s behind me, Yixing.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. You ca- you don’t have to keep going.”

 

Even though his hands are still covering his face, Yixing can still see how he shakes his head. “No,” he says, then drops his hands to turn and look at Yixing. “I may as well just get it all out.”

 

Yixing is incapable of finding words, staring into the face of the boy who played the piano. Here, before him, so close and bathed in silver moonlight. Without a mask. Without brick walls. Raw, bare, and torn wide open for Yixing to take whatever he can hold with two hands.

 

So Yixing just nods.

 

Baekhyun takes a slow and steadying breath. “I don’t know if the job he had just ran with Baekbeom went wrong, or if I had just been away from the house for too long, or-” he shakes his head “-I’ll never know and that’s fine. But, he just went _ballistic.”_

 

Yixing blinks hard to try to erase the images trying to flood his mind. “Baekhyun, I-”

 

“Thank god I’d made plans for Jongdae to come over, or he’d have never been there to fight him off, to call the cops, to-”

 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t even have to. Yixing’s heart feels as though it’s been broken a million times over.

 

“The arrest for the assault ended up getting him in police custody for the, like, billion other things he had a warrant for. So. Blessings in disguise, I guess.”

 

Yixing releases a laugh even _he_ didn’t expect. “There’s always a bright side, huh?”

 

Baekhyun smiles. It’s small and it’s timid, but there is a smile on his lips, and Yixing wants to lean over and kiss it. He holds back, though, because Baekhyun looks like he’s trying to say something. He takes his time, and Yixing - as always - waits.

 

“For a little while I was _mad_ at Jongdae for getting him thrown in jail. But, obviously, it was so much better for me to _not_ be with him.” Baekhyun reaches for yet another cigarette from his pack. Yixing thinks he’s not gonna be able to keep up with him. “Like, I was totally miserable when I was with him. You saw me. Every day, for the last few months of our relationship, actually.”

 

Yixing thinks about skinny shoulders, hunched over in defeat and in fear. Turtlenecks and scarves covering what could have only been a bruised throat. His hand finds Baekhyun’s again, and Baekhyun grips onto him for dear life.

 

“I starved myself _for him,_ you know. He had this weird thing about his masculinity and liked me little and easy to toss around. Never took me anywhere or showed me off to his friends, I just- I was to stay at home and wait for him and, _ugh,_ I was so stupid for staying with him for that long.”

 

Yixing shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault he’s a piece of shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun sighs. “I know.”

 

“What’s his name?” Yixing asks. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

 

Baekhyun shakes his head, smoke pouring from his lips and curling into the air. “I haven’t said it in years, and I’ll never say it again.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Silence stretches between them. There’s nothing but the sounds of crickets and frogs and birds. The sounds of nighttime and their slow and thoughtful breaths. Yixing lets his mind wander, just as he’s sure Baekhyun’s is. And as he watches Baekhyun as he watches the sky he thinks about the melancholic and heartbreaking music that used to come from those pretty fingers of his, now lifting a cigarette to his lips so he can take a drag. He thinks about the last time he ever saw Baekhyun before he seemingly vanished into thin air, how he’d thanked Yixing for letting him play, and Yixing almost wanted to thank him for sharing his music with him.

 

He thinks about all the things he wants to say to Baekhyun, all the things he’s ever wanted to say since he first started coming into the shop to play those sad, beautiful songs what feels like a century ago. He wants to say them all. He doesn’t know where to begin.

 

“The shower is supposed to start a little after midnight, right?” Baekhyun says, interrupting anything that Yixing could have possibly uttered. He wiggles a little bit, letting go of Yixing’s hand so he can dig into his pocket and grab his cell phone. The clock reads 11:17pm.

 

Yixing figures the subject of the past has been effectively dropped. So, he says, “Well, what are we to do for an hour?”

 

“Ooooh,” Baekhyun purrs with a giddy little smirk on his lips, that familiar little glint in his eye. “Here’s an idea. We could totally make out.”

 

Yixing laughs, loud and happy, as Baekhyun rolls over to slot a thigh between Yixing’s and rest a hand on his chest. “You’re kinda cute, you know.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

Yixing knows he’s smiling so hard he must look pretty silly, looking up at Baekhyun who hovers over him like this. He can’t help it, though, staring up at him, at all the soft lines in his face. All the softness between his eyelashes as he blinks down at him. He’s smiling, too, despite having just been crying a few minutes before, and even in the argent, colourless light from the moon his cheeks look rosy and his lips look startlingly pink.

 

He’s obsessed, captivated, by the way Baekhyun’s hair - normally the colour of sunlight - transforms into starlight under the night sky. Here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by only the earth tiptoeing its way to midnight. And perhaps a few fireflies a few feet away.

 

“Or are you just going to look at me a little longer?” Baekhyun teases.

 

And Yixing says, “yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”

 

Baekhyun snorts out a giggle before leaning in and pressing his lips to Yixing’s. Yixing sighs against him, and Baekhyun positively _melts._

 

He tastes like smoke and the remnants of tears and Yixing doesn’t think he’s ever had anything better. Even though their kisses stay innocent, even though they remain sweet and tender and genuine, it draws the air right out of Yixing’s lungs. Baekhyun’s too. They don’t kiss for very long, but by the time they pull away, they’re gasping for air, as if they’d just poured _everything_ out into the space between them.

 

Baekhyun rolls away, onto his back again. He pulls out his pack of smokes and says, “Nah, it’s a chain-smoke and over-share kinda night.”

 

Yixing groans. “I don’t think I have enough smokes left for that.”

 

“You can have some of mine,” Baekhyun winks at him. Yixing makes a face and Baekhyun laughs. “What!?”

 

“Yours are so nasty, though.”

 

Baekhyun scoffs, indignant. “You literally smoke reds!”

 

“So?” Yixing says with a laugh, pulling a cigarette out of his own pack. “Mine are _strong_ but yours taste _bad.”_

 

Baekhyun takes a disgruntled puff of his cigarette and deliberately blows the smoke right in Yixing’s face. “Well, _some_ of us can only afford to smoke classics. You probably pay like thirteen hundred won for yours.”

 

“Give or take.”

 

“Horrendous.”

 

Yixing chuckles as Baekhyun just sighs. They lay there for a little while, and when Yixing notices Baekhyun’s beginning to shiver, he shuffles around until he can pull one of the blankets over them, bathing them in warmth. They both sigh, pleased.

 

“Actually, we should probably just quit,” Baekhyun says. Yixing looks over at him to see him staring at the cigarette cradled between his fingers with a frown. “But _fuck,_ if I’m not in a permanent state of stressed-the-fuck-out.”

 

Yixing cocks his head. “You do a pretty good job of hiding it.” Baekhyun looks at him, lifts a curious brow. “The stress, I mean. You’re good at seeming so easy-going.”

 

“I’m also pretty good at not looking like a disabled mess of PTSD and anorexia.”

 

Yixing reaches over to pull Baekhyun in closer against him. He loves the infinite warmth that Baekhyun’s skin supplies. “You’re just good at looking, is all. Good… at being looked at. Good looking?”

 

Baekhyun giggles. “Stop before you hurt yourself.”

 

“But, really,” Yixing says, using gentle fingers to turn Baekhyun over to face him, look him straight in the eye. “You’re a beautiful person Baekhyun-”

 

“Sto-”

 

“Shhh, let me talk,” Yixing shakes his head with a soft smile. “Everything you’ve gone through, damage and all, has made you the beautiful - I mean it - _beautiful_ person you are. Okay?”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything for quite some time. He frowns thoughtfully at Yixing, glancing between each of his eyes, thinking. Yixing figures his words are just sinking in. He wishes he could think of more to say that could press this notion even further into Baekhyun’s skull.

 

Finally, Baekhyun says, lowly, “I’d rather be beautiful _without_ the damage.”

 

Yixing pictures his mother hunched over the desk in her studio with a paintbrush in hand. “Some things are more beautiful damaged.”

 

Baekhyun clearly doesn’t accept it, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he just turns away, looks up at the stars, and announces he wants to find all the constellations.

 

So, that’s exactly what they do. They lie on their backs and bicker over where certain constellations are. They point them out to each other, argue over which ones are real constellations and which ones Baekhyun’s just making up because he feels like it. They laugh together as they make up outrageous stories about the big dipper giving birth to the little dipper. And they don’t even realize how long they’ve been doing this until a shooting star flies across the sky and Baekhyun gasps.

 

“It’s starting!”

 

He reaches under the blankets until he finds Yixing’s hand. His palm is warm against Yixing’s, comforting and vibrating with excitement. Yixing looks over to watch his face, watch the way his eyes light up brighter than the galaxy above them as a smile completely covers his face. For a little while, Yixing had forgotten how thoroughly special this is to Baekhyun. The only truly fond memory he’s ever spoken of.

 

Yixing squeezes his hand. Baekhyun squeezes back.

 

“What should I wish for?” Baekhyun asks, voice whisper-soft and dreamy.

 

Yixing thinks about all the shooting stars they’re about to see. “You could make a hundred wishes.”

 

Another flies by. Baekhyun beams the wattage of a thousand suns.

 

It takes a moment, but eventually Baekhyun replies, earnestly, “Or I could wish for the same thing a hundred times.”

 

Yixing looks at him, studies the ecstatic glimmer in his eyes and the rosiness of his cheeks. Watches the way he positively emanates pure happiness, in this moment. Like he’s been thrown back to his twelve-year-old self, before the damage and the horrors, wishing on shooting stars like the child he really is.

 

The shower is in full swing, now, and Yixing watches the sky alongside Baekhyun. It’s so magical, sometimes, living on this little planet in this giant, giant universe. And how on this little planet, there’s so many people experiencing so many things. It’s amazing, to Yixing, that somehow, he ended up here, under blankets with Baekhyun in the box of his truck, parked out in the middle of nowhere. Just so they can make wishes on falling stars.

 

He glances at the boy in question before turning back to watch another meteor shoot across the sky. “I’m gonna wish your ex dies a horrible death.”

 

Baekhyun bursts into loud laughter, clearly not expecting that. “No you aren’t. You’re too good to ever wish that on anyone.”

 

“Maybe,” Yixing says, turning to meet Baekhyun’s gaze and offer him a small smile. “But he deserves it.”

 

Baekhyun shakes his head, still sparkling bright enough to piss off every star in the sky. “Nah,” he says, “you’re just too good.”

 

He turns back to the sky, scoots himself up tight against Yixing’s side and rests his head on his shoulder. Yixing soaks in all his warmth, the scent of his shampoo and his cheap cigarettes. Baekhyun sighs, comfortable, and Yixing presses a kiss to Baekhyun’s hair.

 

“Just too good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far!  
> If you like what you read, post a comment, find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/bbhsteeth), or [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/bbhsteeth), or buy me a [Coffee](http://ko-fi.com/laurenandrea).
> 
> I'll see you in two weeks!


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and heeeeeere's chapter 3.... a lot of shit goes down in this chapter.  
> another quick thank you to jin aka eggsootart for being such a lovely beta. i think the best part of you betaing for me is that you're the first reaction i receive, and your reactions are always so great.  
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated! ive worked rly hard on this and require validation to continue existing so :/  
> thanks again for reading!!! enjoy!!!!

He has to be very careful, climbing out of bed, because Baekhyun isn’t a very heavy sleeper and Yixing hates to disturb him. It’s like a game of Operation, trying to slowly pry himself from Baekhyun’s hold, slide out from under the covers, and tiptoe his way to the bathroom. All as quietly and carefully as humanly possible.

 

This is Yixing’s fourth morning shift in a row that he’s had to extract himself from bed without waking Baekhyun. The three days before that he was on afternoons - save for the Sunday that he didn’t work at all - and could wake up with Baekhyun, all soft smiles and warm kisses. Yixing smiles at the thought, loading his toothbrush up with toothpaste, and realizes then that it’s been an entire week since Baekhyun last returned to his own apartment.

 

He’s been doing that an awful lot, over the last few weeks. Making himself right at home in Yixing’s apartment, and Yixing never even thinks to question it. Not even now, as he glances to his right to see Baekhyun’s toothbrush in the holder, or his face wash on the vanity, or his towel on the floor. Actually,  _ that _ Yixing can question, as he rolls his eyes and picks it up to hang it on the hook behind the door, still brushing his teeth with his other hand.

 

It’s barely been a couple of months, and already they’ve reached this level of domesticity. Yixing finds no room for complaint.

 

He wanders back into the bedroom to find something to wear, creeping his way over to the closet to find a sweater. It’s been starting to get chilly, already, in mid-september. At least in the mornings. Yixing doesn’t know whether he hates it or anticipates it. He adores autumn, but not the winter that follows.

 

“Yixing.”

 

Yixing spins around to spot the source of the voice, the little tuft of yellow hair peeking out from the pile of blankets. He smiles, fond, before going to stand over the said pile of blankets.

 

“Yes?”

 

He can’t see Baekhyun’s face, but he can hear him muffled through the blankets as he says, “Come back to bed.”

 

Yixing chuckles, pulling down the blanket to reveal Baekhyun’s pouty face and messy hair. He laughs a little louder at the sight, before leaning down to peck a kiss onto Baekhyun’s sleep swollen lips. “I can’t, baby. Gotta go to work.”

 

Baekhyun sighs. “But I gotta go back home today. I’ve been away for way too long.”

 

“Okay,” Yixing says, using a gentle hand to brush Baekhyun’s hair away from his forehead. He smiles at the way Baekhyun practically starts purring at the touch. “How about I come stay at your place after work, then?”

 

“Deal,” Baekhyun says. He still hasn’t opened his eyes to look at Yixing. “Now one more kiss to hold me over.”

 

Yixing laughs and rolls his eyes, but still bends over to eagerly press his smile up against Baekhyun’s mouth. And,  _ god,  _ if he doesn’t love the way Baekhyun hums pleasantly into his skin.

 

“See you later.”

 

Yixing covers Baekhyun back up with the blankets before turning around to continue getting dressed. 

 

He has a quiet morning, making himself tea to put into his travel mug to take with him, making himself breakfast, getting ready to take on the day. They don’t open until a little later on Saturdays, but Yixing still likes to go in a little early to do an inventory check and a few other things that need done around the store that don’t normally get attended to. He ponders climbing back under the covers with Baekhyun, but ultimately figures there’s time for that later. 

 

His walk to work is refreshing, a little cooler in the mornings, now, but not nearly enough to have him shivering. The sky is still a little pink, just hardly a flush, and the streetlights are still on, lighting his path. He likes these quiet beginnings to his days, just him, his thoughts, his little shop, and the sun as she slowly rises into the sky.

 

The day remains quiet. A few of his students come in for their guitar or piano lessons, but other than that, he sees much of no one. He spends his day allowing his mind to brew on some lyrics that he jots into a notebook. To brew on the thought of Baekhyun, back at home. Is he wandering about, trying to finally find some breakfast at noon? Or has he already headed back to his own place to wait for Yixing there?

 

Before he knows it, Chanyeol is coming in to take over the afternoon shift, and Yixing is free to go. As he’s double checking his notes he wrote on each of his students he saw today, Chanyeol clears his throat. 

 

“So, Soo has an interview in the city in a couple weeks. On a Monday.”

 

“Oh,” Yixing says, “good for him.”

 

“He wants us to go with him. Two Mondays from now.”

 

Yixing nods. There are a few collectors guitars he knows are up for sale in the city. He could use a trip to go purchase them for the store. “I’ll be sure to close the shop up that day.”

 

“Cool. See ya, boss. There’s a certain someone waiting outside for you.”

 

_ That  _ catches Yixing’s attention, and he turns his head to see Baekhyun standing outside the shop windows, looking in. He’s wearing one of Yixing’s old hoodies, the back of his hair is sticking up a little bit, and he lifts a hand to wave at him before shoving it back into the hoodie pocket with his other hand. 

 

“Oh, hey, Yixing,” Chanyeol says, “you’ve got a little-” he gestures vaguely to his own face “-smitten all over your face.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Yeollie.” But, he’s still smiling, as he pockets his keys and heads to the door. “Don’t burn the place down, now.”

 

“No promises.”

 

And with a jingle of the door, Yixing is outside and being greeted by Baekhyun’s beautiful smile. He smiles in response, steps in to place a hand on the small of Baekhyun’s back and press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

 

“Hello, handsome,” Yixing says. Baekhyun tastes like cigarettes and the caramel hot chocolate Yixing always stays stocked up on.

 

Baekhyun tilts his head to the side, pleased, and hooks and arm around Yixing’s, shoving his hand back into his pocket. “How was work?”

 

“Quiet. Nice.”

 

Baekhyun hums. “Like you.”

 

Yixing turns his head to meet Baekhyun’s gaze. He finds happy little sparkles behind irises. He likes the way Baekhyun looks like this. Bright, warm, happy. 

 

“Nice of you to come get me at work.”

 

“Hmm, thought it would be nice to make the trek to my place together. Did you need to stop at your apartment for anything?”

 

Yixing shakes his head. Baekhyun rests his head on his shoulder. They continue on their way, scuffing soles against pavement, in no hurry at all. Yixing just absorbs everything around him. Neighbours walking their dogs, vehicles driving by, the smell of the local deli, clearly recovering from a lunch rush. Then, Baekhyun gasps. 

 

“Kitty!”

 

Baekhyun sprints from Yixing’s side, right to the corner where the sidewalk meets the alleyway behind the deli and crouches down, cooing. Yixing laughs, strolling up to Baekhyun and crouching down beside him, his favourite little stray cat preening and rubbing her head into Baekhyun’s palm. 

 

“Baekhyun, meet my friend the cat.”

 

“I  _ love  _ her.”

 

“She’s pretty cute, huh?” Yixing says, reaching a hand out as the cat moves onto him for attention, purring loudly, tail swaying happily behind her.

 

“You know her well?” Baekhyun asks, running a gentle palm all the way from her shoulders to the end of her tail and starting again. 

 

“She’s outside this deli every day. And I happen to walk by here every day.”

 

“You’ve never thought to keep her?” Baekhyun looks up at Yixing with wide, shimmering eyes. Yixing smiles to himself over how Baekhyun looks more like a kitten than the kitten herself. 

 

Yixing shakes his head. “I’ve thought about it, but I think she enjoys her freedom too much.”

 

Baekhyun nods, suddenly very earnest. He turns his head to lean a little further into the cat’s face as he scratches her chin. “Clever girl, kitty cat,” he says. “Don’t let a man tie you down.”

 

“Hey,” Yixing teases, bumping Baekhyun’s shoulder with his own. 

 

Baekhyun smiles bashfully, staring resolutely at the pavement beneath his feet rather than at Yixing. He says, “Some kitties  _ do  _ need homes, though.”

 

Yixing nods. “It is nice to have a place to call home.”

 

“I don’t think it’s so much the  _ place,”  _ Baekhyun says with a hum, “as it is the people. Or the memories. Or whatever.”

 

With a dismissive nod, Yixing straightens up, brushing off the knees of his pants. He offers Baekhyun a hand, brings him up to his level, and without a word they turn to continue their journey back to Baekhyun’s home. 

 

\-----

 

It isn’t particularly cold out, yet, still trudging through the first half of September, but Baekhyun insists on putting the heat on the second they get to his apartment. Claims that they need to make it feel a  _ little  _ more lived in, since he’s been away for so long.

 

“I swear, the little old couple that run the laundromat downstairs are gonna start thinking I’m dead,” Baekhyun says, now stripped down to just a t-shirt and some boxers, sprawled across the futon with his ankles in Yixing’s lap.

 

It’s boiling hot in his apartment, with the heat on and the little amount of space in the bachelor layout. Let alone that the big window above the bed faces the late afternoon sun, turning this little place into a fucking oven. But Baekhyun is this dangerous combination of strange and stubborn, and probably won’t turn the heat off no matter how much Yixing begs of him. Even if the hairs at the back of Baekhyun’s neck are beginning to look a little damp.

 

Other than that, though, Baekhyun looks otherwise completely unaffected by the heat. He lounges there on the futon, game controller in hand, blasting away at whatever enemies on screen are blasting at him. Yixing’s bad at video games, mostly because he can’t really comprehend the  _ point.  _

 

He huffs, shifting his weight in his seat so he can pull his t-shirt over his head. “Is this just some ruse to get me naked?” he whines, tossing his shirt onto the floor, debating taking his jeans off, next. “Because it’s working.”

 

“Noooo, put your shirt back on,” Baekhyun pouts at the TV screen, “you’re distracting me!”

 

Yixing laughs. “You suck at this game, anyway.”

 

“Yixing, if I wanted to get you naked I wouldn’t have put on my ga-NOOOO!!!”

 

The loading screen starts up once Baekhyun has inevitably died.

 

Baekhyun pouts at him. Yixing grins smugly. Baekhyun rolls his eyes.

 

“Besides,” Baekhyun says, pressing a couple buttons to bring the PAUSE menu up on screen, “if I wanted to get you naked, all I have to do is breathe in your direction.”

 

Yixing slaps his leg in retaliation. “It’s not  _ my  _ fault you’re so sexy.”

 

“Flatterer,” Baekhyun says with a playful roll of his eyes. “If I turn the heat off will you let me continue my game? I’m almost finished this level, I swear.”

 

With a giant sigh of relief, Yixing says, “Yes,  _ please.” _

 

Baekhyun is laughing and muttering to himself as he gets up to go adjust the thermostat, loudly padding bare feet against the floors as he goes. Yixing just watches him, amused by how his t-shirt is practically a dress on him, barely short enough for the ends of his red plaid boxers to peek out against his thighs. He’s so cute, Yixing thinks. He’s cute and small and silly, and Yixing thinks he likes just about everything about him.

 

“Stop staring at me like that and let me focus,” Baekhyun says as he plops back down and starts the game back up. He doesn’t sound at all like he dislikes the attention, though.

 

Yixing tries to watch the game unfold on screen but it’s all too fast and too violent and too  _ much  _ for Yixing to even attempt to keep up with. It doesn’t help that he’s being goaded with the knowledge that he has Baekhyun’s legs in his lap, supplying him with  _ so  _ much power in this situation. He could just…

 

He lifts a hand, grazes gentle fingertips up and down the side of Baekhyun’s leg. From his calf, to above his knee, back down again. It’s an innocent enough gesture, just a distracted show of affection, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Baekhyun says nothing, just continues frowning at his game as he pounds at the controls, as if the more violently he presses the buttons, the better his character will perform.

 

Yixing drags his fingers up a little higher this time. Back down again. Back up, dipping fingertips under the hem of Baekhyun’s boxers, and back down again with a more deliberate, heavier scrape of fingernails against flesh.

 

“Yixing…” Baekhyun warns.

 

This time, he drags his palm flat against the skin, his entire hand diving under the leg of Baekhyun’s underwear until he reaches his hip, and back down again. Baekhyun kicks him in the stomach.

 

“I swear to god, Yixing.”

 

“Put your game away,” he whines.

 

“And you say  _ I’m  _ needy.”

 

But, he brings up the pause menu, twisting his torso so he can face Yixing with an incredulous cock to his brow. He says, “Anything I can help you with?”

 

Yixing grabs Baekhyun by the backs of his knees, tugs until Baekhyun is flat on his back on the futon with an  _ oof.  _ He climbs over him, hips between thighs, and leans down into Baekhyun’s face.

 

“I feel like kissing,” he pouts. He can tell Baekhyun is  _ trying  _ to act annoyed, but there’s this fond little glimmer in his eye, the corners of his lips threatening to curl up into a smile. Yixing leans down and connects their mouths in the simplest, sweetest of kisses.

 

Baekhyun hums. “I was planning-” kiss “-on beating-” kiss “-this level, today.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

 

Yixing absently hums some form of acknowledgement, lifting a hand to gently drag a thumb across Baekhyun’s jawline, curling his fingers into the hair behind Baekhyun’s ear. He murmurs, “But you could be kissing me,” his lips brushing against Baekhyun’s as he speaks. This time, it’s Baekhyun who surges up into a kiss, his tongue poking out to meet Yixing’s bottom lip before the kiss disappears completely. Yixing’s stomach flutters at the feeling.

 

“I like kissing,” Baekhyun whispers.

 

“Me too,” Yixing whispers back.

 

They kiss, soundly and entirely. Yixing pulls Baekhyun’s bottom lip between his own, releases it, goes for the top lip. Baekhyun sighs.

 

“I like kissing you.”

 

“Me too.”

 

The controller clatters to the floor, Baekhyun’s hands finding purchase on Yixing’s chest. His palms, hot, inching firmly down Yixing’s bare skin. He shivers against Baekhyun, above Baekhyun, and the smug look on his boyfriend’s face just goes to show how fully aware he is of the effect he has on him. Baekhyun kisses the corner of his mouth, his hands continue wandering, dipping between ribs and scratching at sensitive flesh. Yixing tries to find Baekhyun’s lips again, but Baekhyun tilts his head to mouth hotly at Yixing’s jaw.

 

Yixing swears he would let Baekhyun murder him. So long as he did it as slowly and wantonly as this. Hot breath and damp kisses and greedy touches have this terrible habit of putting Yixing under some dizzying sort of spell.

 

“Baby,” Yixing breathes out, earning a soft smile from Baekhyun. Their gazes meet for a moment, and they kiss again, sweetly, neatly. But there’s something in the way Baekhyun is grabbing at him that promises - no,  _ threatens  _ \- something bawdy.

 

He opens up wider, the next time their mouths meet. An invitation for Baekhyun to press this kiss further, something filthier. Baekhyun doesn’t take it, though. He continues to mouth at Yixing’s lips, chastely and teasingly, entirely aware of what he’s doing to Yixing, who can barely keep his wits about him with Baekhyun underneath him like this, with all the heat around them and between them.

 

“Level?” Yixing asks.

 

Baekhyun pauses, thinking. “One.”

 

And Yixing wastes no time dropping a hand to Baekhyun’s waist, dragging hungry hands down to grip at Baekhyun’s thigh, now that he knows Baekhyun feels okay about being touched like this.

 

They had set up that system a few weeks after the meteor shower. A way for Yixing to know what kinds of boundaries he needed to respect when it came to their intimacy. If Baekhyun says he’s level five, then he’s feeling too dysmorphic or insecure for Yixing to touch him and acknowledge the body he practically worships. But days like today, when he feels good enough to let Yixing feel him the way he wants to, he’s only a one on the scale.

 

Yixing loves being with Baekhyun no matter what level he is that day. But, damn, if his hands don’t just  _ adore  _ level one days, where they can grab and squeeze and take as they please.

 

Baekhyun gasps into Yixing’s mouth, allows their kiss to deepen into something sinful. He brings a pretty hand up to the hairs at the nape of Yixing’s neck, partially to pull him in even closer, mostly to make Yixing shudder and groan. There’s the taste of a smirk on Baekhyun’s lips, as Yixing meticulously licks at them, then his teeth, then where his tongue meets his in the middle, and it’s enough to have him groaning out again, to have Baekhyun rolling his hips up against him. Both too caught up in their kissing to even  _ know  _ what their bodies are doing. 

 

With a hand on the back of Baekhyun’s thigh, Yixing lifts his knee so it hooks around Yixing’s hip, forcing their bodies even closer together, tangled up impossibly tight. Baekhyun bites at his bottom lip, just hard enough to make him moan, and Baekhyun moans in tandem, as if speaking their own private language.

 

_ I love that. Do it again. _

 

_ You make the best noises when I do that. _

 

Yixing kisses Baekhyun like the last source of oxygen comes from between Baekhyun’s lips. Kisses him like he’s trying to tell him through action just how beautiful he is, how warm he is, how much he deserves to be cherished and coddled. Yixing tries with all his might to make it known to Baekhyun that there is  _ nothing  _ in this world he desires more than himself. Especially beneath him, wrapped up in him, sighing into their kisses as they’re both starved for air but unwilling to separate.

 

Reluctantly, Yixing parts from him, his own heavy breathing beating against Baekhyun’s in the air between their mouths. Baekhyun’s eyes are hooded and hazy, his lips swollen and buzzed a bright red, his hair a mess atop his head.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Yixing says, and dives in to kiss him soundly, again. “You’re so beautiful.”

 

Baekhyun can’t respond, only moans absently into Yixing’s mouth as Yixing drags the tip of his tongue over the roof of his mouth, sucks on his lips, pulls away with a smack between them. Baekhyun is breathless, wrapping his arms tight around Yixing’s back, silently telling him to never, ever pull away again.

 

“Yixing,” he whispers against kiss-swollen lips.

 

“Yeah.” A kiss.

 

“Take me-” kiss “-take me to bed.”

 

Yixing smiles into their next kiss. “But what about your game?”

 

“Oh,  _ now  _ you care about my game.”

 

“Don’t you wanna beat your level?” Yixing asks, even though he’s already wrapping Baekhyun’s legs around his waist and making his way off the futon, Baekhyun clinging to him for dear life.

 

“I hate you,” Baekhyun grunts out as he’s being plopped down onto the bed, bouncing off the mattress with the force of it.

 

Yixing climbs over him, again, pulling at the hem of Baekhyun’s t-shirt which, frankly, should have been gone  _ ages  _ ago. “No you don’t.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Now shut up and let me ravish you.”

 

Baekhyun chokes on his next breath. “God, you are  _ so lame.”  _ He starts giggling into Yixing’s next kiss. “I can’t believe how much I like you, you dweeb.”

 

“I’m flattered,” Yixing says, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of Baekhyun’s boxers, knowing full well that  _ that  _ will ultimately shut Baekhyun up for good.

 

And he was right.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun is already awake when Yixing wakes up.

 

He hasn’t gotten out of bed, however, instead he’s lying on his side, facing the wall, completely still. At first, Yixing thought he was still sleeping, but his breathing is too uneven and alert for someone asleep, and when Yixing had leaned over to see his face, his eyes were open, staring at nothing at all, a slight furrow in his brow.

 

Yixing tries to shake his shoulders, but it only makes him frown deeper. He says his name, but he gets no response. Yixing has no idea what to do, now sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the back of Baekhyun’s shoulders as they rise and fall with distant, thoughtful breaths.

 

He sighs, and gets up to go to the washroom. He pees, he washes his hands, he brushes his teeth. He opens the door to see Baekhyun still lying in the exact same position. His back to Yixing and the rest of the world.

 

“Baekhyun, baby?”

 

No response.

 

Another sigh, and Yixing closes the bathroom door again, deciding he needs a shower after the... events of last night. He sheds his clothes, he turns the water on to let it warm up, he worries about Baekhyun.

 

He worries about Baekhyun.

 

It’s happened before, that he gets into these far-away headspaces, and nothing Yixing does can bring him back to earth. Usually, it happens when they’re driving, or lounging on the couch with a movie. He tends to drift off, sometimes, but it doesn’t take long until he snaps back out of it, and Yixing will just kiss him on the temple and ask where the heck he’d been.

 

Baekhyun never knows.

 

Yixing frowns thoughtfully, shampooing and rinsing his hair. He uses Baekhyun’s soap to scrub his body down. He watches the soap pool at his feet, swirl around in pretty patterns, before sinking down the drain.

 

He worries about Baekhyun.

 

When he gets out of the shower, he doesn’t bother to redress. Instead, he walks out of the bathroom nude, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel, hoping to see Baekhyun back amongst the living.

 

He hasn’t moved.

 

Yixing is officially, completely, entirely worried. He climbs back onto the bed, shuffles over to him on his knees, looming over him. Nothing about Baekhyun’s demeanour shows that he’s at all acknowledged Yixing’s presence. He just continues to frown at nothing at all. Yixing tries to call out for him again, and at least he gets a short, distant, nearly inaudible grunt. It’s still nothing. 

 

He’s filled with this hideous urge to touch Baekhyun’s neck, to see if that would get a response from him. He hates himself for even thinking of it.

 

Quickly, he finds some clothes to put on so he can grab Baekhyun’s cell phone from the bedside table and go out into the hallway outside Baekhyun’s apartment and call Jongdae. 

 

“Hello?” Jongdae picks up after the second ring. 

 

“Hey, it’s Yixing.”

 

“Hey, Xing,” Jongdae sounds understandably concerned. “What’s up?”

 

Yixing runs a hand through his damp hair. “It’s Baekhyun, he- I woke up and he was awake but he’s just…  _ laying there.  _ I’ve tried to get his attention, I’ve tried shaking him and calling to him but he j-just  _ stares  _ at the wall, I… if he weren’t breathing and blinking I’d think he was dead. Jongdae, I just don’t know what to d-”

 

“Hey, hey, Yixing,” Jongdae interrupts him with a calm, soothing voice, “deep breath, buddy.”

 

Yixing takes a deep breath, suddenly aware just how breathless he’d worked himself up to be.

 

“He’s fine, okay? This just happens sometimes.”

 

“...okay.”

 

“Days like this used to be a lot more frequent, that’s why… it’s why he’s on disability. He can’t get up for work when days like this happen.”

 

Yixing nods, then realizes Jongdae can’t see him. “Yeah… that- that makes sense.”

 

“He hasn’t done this in a long time, not since he met you,” Jongdae says. Something fills in Yixing, something a little brighter than the all-consuming dread that’s made his stomach feel like heavy lead. “He’ll be fine, Yixing. Just be patient. He’ll come back to you.”

 

Yixing nods, again, but he doesn’t feel satisfied. “Do you know… why? This happens?”

 

“Sometimes when he’s been feeling too good for too long it just kinda, like, tires his brain out. That’s how he described it to me, once. Like when he’s finally feeling bad again it hits a little harder to make up for all the happiness.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So, it’s kind of a good sign!” Jongdae says, crystal clear voice sounding cheery as ever. “Means he’s been feeling really good lately.”

 

Yixing chuckles, shakes his head. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

 

“For sure. I’m really surprised, though, I thought theses types of days were long behind him.”

 

“He just started a new dosage of his meds a couple weeks ago.”

 

“Ah, that could be part of it.”

 

Yixing runs a hand down his face, tilts his head back against the wall with a quiet  _ thud.  _ He remembers, suddenly, that it’s Sunday, and he’s supposed to be going to meet his friends at the cafe shortly. “Is it okay if I leave him like this?”

 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Just, like, don’t be gone for ages.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Hey,” Jongdae says, yanking Yixing’s attention from where it was weighing the options between staying here with Baekhyun or going to the cafe to make plans for their upcoming trip to the city. “I just want you to know that it means a lot to me, how much you care.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “It just comes with the territory.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but still. You’re a good dude. I’m glad he’s got you.”

 

He bites his lip, suddenly feeling almost as if he could cry. “You, too, Jongdae.”

 

“You got this, man. Call me if you need anything else.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

 

Jongdae hangs up.

 

Yixing spends a moment longer in the hallway, leaning up against the wall, knocking the back of his head back over, and over, and over. He takes a deep breath, then opens the door to the apartment to go back inside.

 

Baekhyun still has not moved, but Yixing tries not to let it bother him. Instead, he comfortably moves about the kitchen, putting together breakfast for himself and for Baekhyun. He eats his own eggs and bacon, drinks his own coffee - though he knows he’ll just be getting more coffee later - and then washes his dishes in the sink. He grabs the second plate and set of utensils from the counter and makes his way over to the bed.

 

“Hey, Baek,” Yixing says to Baekhyun’s back, putting the plate of food down on the bedside table. “I know you don’t feel like doing much, but I have some food here, okay? You need to eat.”

 

He thinks Baekhyun might hum some sort of acknowledgement. He tries not to get his hopes up.

 

“I gotta go for a little bit, okay?” Yixing says. He reaches a hand out, draws it back, but reaches out again to brush some of Baekhyun’s hair back behind his ear. “I’ll be back later.”

 

Yixing grabs his wallet, puts on his shoes, and gives the backs of Baekhyun’s shoulders one last glance before he’s closing the door behind him. He locks the door with the key above the door frame before putting it back where it belongs. Counts his steps as he makes his way down the creaky metal stairs and steps outside into jarring sunlight. 

 

He smokes two cigarettes on his walk to the cafe, a walk so short he shouldn’t even have time to finish one. He supposes he must be a little stressed. 

 

And his suspicions are confirmed, as the moment he walks into the cafe and right up to the table where Kyungsoo and Chanyeol are waiting for him, his friends ogle him with wide eyes. Kyungsoo frowns, even as Yixing offers them a smile and a quick greeting. He excuses himself to go order his coffee, and sits back down to the two of them still frowning in concern at him. 

 

“You alright?” Kyungsoo asks, voice quiet and tentative. 

 

“Yeah, I-” Yixing blinks, tries to find his words. “Baekhyun’s not… feeling well. I’m a little worried about leaving him at home.”

 

Despite how unperceptive Chanyeol may be, both of Yixing’s friends look at him like they understand there’s more to it than just what Yixing has shared. They know, sans details, that Baekhyun deals with a lot of problems, emotionally and mentally, and are always understanding when Yixing has to cancel plans with them because he can tell Baekhyun needs his company, or anything of the sort. They never pry, because they know only what they need to know. 

 

Kyungsoo puts a hand on Yixing’s atop the table. “If you wanna go back home, you can.”

 

“No, no,” Yixing says with a shake of his head. “We need to figure out details for our trip.”

 

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol both nod.

 

“Congratulations, by the way,” Yixing tacks on, because he feels it’s the right thing to say. “An interview, that’s huge. You must be excited.”

 

The way Kyungsoo lights up  _ should  _ be pleasing to Yixing. Instead, the same anxious knot in his stomach he’s had all morning tightens even further. His coffee is put in front of him but he barely even notices it. 

 

He barely even notices anything for the rest of their conversation. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol rattle off with each other, planning the details of their trip, whose vehicle they’re taking, who’s getting the hotel, the whole deal. Yixing hears little to none of it. He sips his coffee and he thinks about Baekhyun. He gulps his coffee and he worries about Baekhyun. He knows his friends notice his distraction, but neither of them comment on it. Not until Chanyeol reaches across the table to take Yixing’s hand in his. 

 

“Dude, you’re on another planet.”

 

“Sorry, I know I tend to do that…”

 

“It’s fine,” Chanyeol says. “Did you want to talk about it?”

 

Yixing blinks between his two friends, both watching him with equal levels of care and concern in their expressions. His heart softens, but he just sighs. 

 

“There isn’t much to say, really.”

 

Except how he wonders if Baekhyun has been able to move, yet. He wonders if he’s eaten the food Yixing left for him. He wonders what’s going on in his mind as he just  _ lays there _ and thinks. Can do absolutely nothing besides  _ think.  _

 

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. “I say we’ve been here long enough, anyway.” The other two nod in agreement. “Damn, in a couple weeks, I might have a job in the city.”

 

Yixing only nods, while Chanyeol drops his gaze to where his hands are wrapped around his empty mug. If Yixing didn’t have so much occupying his mind, he’d for sure think something of it. But, there isn’t much time to dwell on anything, as they’re quickly gathering up their mugs to put them in the bin of dirty dishes, waving goodbye to Seulgi behind the cash, and going their separate ways.

 

He walks fast, in hopes to get back to Baekhyun as soon as physically possible. But, at some point, he doesn’t even realize as his feet slow down below him, and he’s lagging, just barely. It’s a little terrifying, enough to have sweaty palms in jeans pockets, not knowing what he’s about to go home to. Or, really, go to  _ Baekhyun’s  _ to.

 

He has no idea what he may go home and see.

 

But, before Yixing has any time to truly doubt himself - and, honestly, god forbid he even consider just  _ leaving  _ Baekhyun, especially not when he has days like this - he’s already arrived at the little laundromat across from the Sheriff’s department. He climbs the stairs, slowly, creakily. Reprimanding himself for even pondering the thought that he has the  _ opportunity  _ to walk out of this. He knows he never could. Not when he cares for Baekhyun this much.

 

With a wiggle of the key, the lock gives, and Yixing opens the door. It groans against its hinges as Yixing puts the key back atop the door frame before stepping into the apartment. It’s quiet, and the lights are still all out. Luckily, it’s the middle of the afternoon, and the entire place is still bathed in yellow sunlight. But, still, the place feels all too… cold. Still. Like there’s no life within it.

 

He quickly scans the kitchen and finds no mess. There’s no one sitting on the futon, waiting for him to come home so they can watch a movie. There’s a full plate of food on the bedside table, untouched and long gone cold. There’s still a lump underneath the covers, completely unmoved and undisturbed.

 

“Hey, baby.”

 

It doesn’t bother Yixing when he gets no response. Instead, he just grabs the plate from the table and takes his time throwing away the food and cleaning the plate and utensils. He decides the place could use some vacuuming, too, and lugs the vacuum out of the closet to do so. He changes back into pajamas. He fixes himself some cup ramen to eat. He sits in silence on the futon, staring at the black television screen, the faint and fragmented reflection of himself sitting there, eating, silent. He throws the cup away, leaves the chopsticks in the sink. Brushes his teeth. Finds no motivation to do anything besides crawl into bed next to Baekhyun.

 

At this point, the sun is still up, but it’s setting. The entire room is swathed in vivid hues of oranges and corals, making it seem so much warmer, so much cozier than it really feels. It’s early, Yixing knows, but he doesn’t feel like doing anything else with his day, and he’s content to just lay here under the covers with Baekhyun, even if Baekhyun isn’t really here, with him, at all.

 

A hand rests on the mattress between Baekhyun’s body and Yixing’s own. He wants to reach out, rest an arm over his waist, wrap him up in warmth. A gentle and palpable reminder that Yixing is right here, even if Baekhyun isn’t, right now. Yet, he still feels as though he should keep his distance, not disturb Baekhyun at all. Just wait for him to come back to him. Then he can hold him as much as he’d like.

 

With the quiet and the warm sunlight and the soft and steady breaths from between Baekhyun’s ribs, Yixing is lulled to utter sleepiness. His eyelids grow heavy, and he feels sleep curl up and make itself at home in the center of his chest. He embraces it, allows it to seep through him from his core to his fingertips, and just slowly flutters his eyelids shut. His sleep is shallow, his mind too preoccupied to switch off entirely, and even in slumber he feels far too aware of the world around him, the silent and still body lying next to him. 

 

He awakens, after some time, and the sky is now dark. The room around him dark, too. It takes him a moment, to realize what it was that woke him, but it’s hard to miss the feeling of arms sliding around his waist after he’s gone an entire day without it. And then Baekhyun sniffles, burying his face into Yixing’s chest, and Yixing quickly catches on to what’s about to happen. Even in his sleep-foggy state. 

 

Baekhyun shudders against him, and the sobs that follow are equal parts expected and unpleasant. Yixing just wraps his arms around him, trying to hold him tightly while remaining gentle. Because Baekhyun doesn’t need someone who feels or treats him with too much intensity. He just needs someone warm to hold while he lets out whatever needs released. 

 

“It’s okay,” Yixing whispers into Baekhyun’s hair. It’s getting dirty, and is sticking up on the one side he’d been laying all day. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun whispers, shattered and shivering. 

 

“It’s okay,” Yixing repeats. 

 

He rubs his hands up and down Baekhyun’s back in soothing circles. Baekhyun continues to cry. Yixing isn’t sure how late it is, but he doesn’t really mind. He just holds Baekhyun, wrapped up in his arms and under blankets, hushes him and hums him gentle melodies. His eyes close on their own accord, and soon enough Baekhyun’s tears dry up into lingering sniffles, and they’re both falling asleep, tangled up the way Yixing likes it. 

 

\-----

 

Yixing feels bad, having to give Baekhyun a kiss and then leave him behind for two days.

 

“You know my number.”

 

“Yes, baby, I’ll call you from the hotel.”

 

“It’s only one night. Quit looking so upset about it.”

 

He drops his forehead onto Baekhyun’s shoulder and giggles at himself. “Right. Silly me.”

 

One more kiss, and Baekhyun’s closing the apartment door between them. Yixing spins on his heel, hefting his bag over his shoulder, and hops down the creaky metal stairs. 

 

He had asked Baekhyun to come on this trip into the city with them, and at first he had excitedly and enthusiastically agreed. A cute and eager nod of his head, hair flopping and eyes sparkling. But then he’d remembered that Jongdae needed him to work that same night they were planning to be gone, some business conference event or what-not, and he was unable to attend. Especially so soon after his last…  _ episode,  _ Yixing was hesitant to leave him, but Baekhyun has assured him, over and over, that he’ll be just fine. 

 

Yixing believes him, because over this past week-or-so, Baekhyun has been back to his usual self. His usual charming, funny, self-deprecating self that Yixing is all too quickly coming to adore. 

 

“Ready to rock and roll?” Yixing asks, sliding into the backseat of Kyungsoo’s little silver Prius. He’s amazed Chanyeol can even fit in the front seat, but he’s got himself pushed back so far it’s impossible for anyone to sit behind him. 

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “You sound like my dad.”

 

“Pretty sure Yixing is our dads’ age, he just looks  _ really young.” _

 

“You’re so right, Yeollie.”

 

“I  _ am  _ in the vehicle, you guys.”

 

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo both laugh, and Yixing quickly follows suit. Kyungsoo pulls away from the side of the road while Chanyeol digs the auxiliary cord out of the center console and Yixing sits back, content, happy to be going on this little trip with his two dearest friends. He listens to them bicker over what music to listen to, smiles to himself, watches the buildings of his little city fly by until it’s mostly just trees and bare land. He thinks to himself that he really loves his life, just the way it is.

 

It eats at the back of his mind, however, that the purpose of this entire trip is the possibility of change. Kyungsoo has an interview in the city, a job opportunity, a potential future laid out for him in a big, busy city. Miles away from home.

 

He tries to picture road trips without Kyungsoo. Or his little silver Prius that Chanyeol can barely fold his gangly limbs into. He tries to picture his Sunday afternoons at the coffee shop, just a table for two. He and Chanyeol sitting over coffee, discussing how they ponder Kyungsoo is doing.

 

It makes him sad. So, he turns his attention to his friends in the front seats, Chanyeol singing loudly and shamelessly, and Kyungsoo pretending he isn’t amused. Yixing can’t help but smile.

 

That’s more like it.

 

The trip isn’t very long. It’s only about two hours of not-much-at-all until they’re within eyesight of the tall skyscrapers and endless thrumming of the city. Chanyeol turns the music down, since Kyungsoo’s GPS is going to start giving them more intricate directions to take them to their hotel in the centre-city. Yixing tunes out again, gazing out the window at the tall towers and the innumerable amount of people pacing the streets. Buildings and clothing and cars and hair of all colours, all sizes, all shapes. It’s all so much to take in, Yixing feels considerably overwhelmed. There’s just so  _ much. _

 

Soon, they’ve arrived at their destination, and they lug their bags up a few floors to their room as Chanyeol checks them in at the front desk. It isn’t a particularly fancy joint, but it’s just enough to shelter them for the one night they’ll be here. The two of them make quick work organizing the place, designating where each overnight bag goes, claiming beds, and soon Chanyeol is coming up to join them.

 

“Kyungsoo claimed that bed and I claimed this one,” Yixing says, starfished on the - slightly uncomfortable - bed closest to the window. “Pick a snuggle buddy.”

 

Chanyeol chuckles, the tops of his cheeks tinting a subtle pink. “Sorry, Soo. You’re smaller.” He groans as he stretches, long arms practically reaching the ceiling. “I need all the space I can get.”

 

“Just keep your ice cold feet about three metres away from me and we’ll be fine.”

 

At that, the three of them laugh before taking some time to rest and get comfortable. They’re supposed to head out later this afternoon for Yixing to meet up with the special collector’s instruments business so he can purchase the vintage guitar he’s had his eyes on. But, for now, they just kick back in the hotel, try to find something decent on the total of two channels available on their TV, and have some mindless conversation. It’s a perfect afternoon, Yixing thinks. He hasn’t had an entire afternoon with his friends, like this, in what feels like ages. 

 

Soon, they’re putting their shoes on and heading out for the evening. They’ve decided they’ll wander the streets until they find somewhere they want to eat for dinner, and then head to the music store from there. And it’s a beautiful evening, too, just perfect for a walk about the city like this.

 

A few paces ahead of him, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol bicker over where they’d like to eat, hunched over Kyungsoo’s cell phone, which is presumably opened to some internet search of restaurants nearby. Yixing smiles to himself before turning away, instead taking in all the shops and restaurants and people they pass by. Everyone moving like a circuit board, keeping the streets they walk along alive. 

 

It’s funny, Yixing thinks, how from down here on the streets, the city isn’t all that different from his little hometown. Busier, noisier, sure. But it also has its own distinct personality, its own recognizable sense of life within it. 

 

Yixing prefers the personality of his demure little town, though. More quiet and peaceful and humble than the boisterous showiness of a place like this. 

 

He laughs. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol don’t notice. All the vibrancy of the city reminds him of Baekhyun. 

 

They eat - some Hot Pot place of Kyungsoo’s choice - they laugh, they have a couple of beers. Yixing gets the check, knowing they used Kyungsoo’s car for the trip and Chanyeol’s credit card for the hotel. 

 

The evening is crisp and clear as they saunter off in the direction of the music store, linked arm-in-arm and struggling to squeeze through the crowds of people, like this. But, they laugh all the same, apologize profusely to the people they so clearly annoy. 

 

Soon, they’re stopped in front of the little hole-in-the-wall music shop, from which you can always hear some obscure rock music blaring from.

 

They hop down the stairs, into the store. Behind the counter is the owner, and Yixing’s long-time colleague, scribbling away into some notepad. His hair, always something equal parts eccentric and different every time Yixing sees him, is this time shaved near bald on the left side of his head, dyed a glaringly intense blood red.

 

“Heechul,” Yixing shouts over the music, now standing right at the edge of the counter. Heechul doesn’t hear him. “Heechul!”

 

Heechul startles, blinking up at Yixing with wide eyes. “Oh, shit! I didn’t see you there!” He reaches underneath the counter to produce a remote, turning down the music to a much more reasonable volume.

 

Yixing laughs, leaning over the counter to give Heechul a brief hug. He can hear Chanyeol and Kyungsoo murmuring as they sift through the vinyl records, behind him. 

 

“No wonder you didn’t notice me. How do you even serve customers with music that loud?”

 

Heechul rolls his eyes, dramatically waves Yixing off with a flutter of his wrist. “ _ Usually  _ I notice them come in and turn it down, thankyouverymuch.” He puts the notebook underneath the counter and reaches his arms above his head in a long, groan-inducing stretch. “So, the guitar.”

 

“Yes, that,” Yixing says with a smile.

 

Heechul clicks his tongue a couple times, checking something on his computer. He gives a dramatic toss of his hair over his shoulder - the hair that still reaches his shoulders and  _ isn’t  _ shaved off - before he says, “Lemme just go grab it in the back.”

 

Yixing takes that as an opportunity to roam around the store, observe all the instruments, the posters, the records. Chanyeol is on a mission to make Kyungsoo laugh, holding albums with portrait covers up to his face to pose. Kyungsoo just keeps rolling his eyes.

 

His smile is completely undeniable, however.

 

“Found it!” Heechul announces, fumbling out through the door to the back room, lugging a guitar case with him. “And, oh, she’s a beaut! Almost enough to turn me.”

 

“It’s a guitar,” Yixing retorts with a bemused smile, wandering back up to the counter, where Heechul is placing the case to open up.

 

“Still a  _ she,”  _ he says, matter-of-factly. Yixing just laughs again.

 

As Heechul pops the latches open, Yixing points to the pile of boxes in the far corner of the store, asking, “So, what’s with all the boxes?”

 

“We are expanding, my man! Making it to the big leagues.” Heechul stops to look up at him, then. Big, proud grin on his face. “I move to a bigger location in November. I’m in over my head, sweetheart, let me tell ya.”

 

Yixing smiles and shakes his head exasperatedly, at that. “Maybe you should hire some help, huh?”

 

“I’m  _ trying,  _ but everybody  _ sucks!”  _ Yixing throws his head back with a huge laugh, at that. Heechul chuckles too, shaking his head as he unfolds the protective tissue paper from atop the guitar. “Wanna come work for me?”

 

“You wish.”

 

“You have no idea. Tadaaa!” He gestures at the guitar he set aside to sell to Yixing. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Yixing says, entirely honest. He reaches to grab the guitar, a sleek electric guitar, the most beautiful Epiphone Yixing thinks he may have ever seen. Sleek lines, not too heavy, and painted the most gorgeous shade of emerald green. “Ugh, what if I just keep her for myself instead of selling her?”

 

“I can’t tell you what to do with your money,” Heechul responds. Chanyeol appears at Yixing’s side to ogle at the guitar, as well. “Speaking of which, cash, debit, or credit?”

 

Yixing digs into his pocket. “I have a check.”

 

“A  _ what!?”  _ Heechul squawks, even hopping up on his tiptoes for dramatic effect. “What even  _ are those?” _

 

Yixing snorts. “You do this every time.”

 

“What can I say, I love to make fun of you. Fuckin’ grandpa.”

 

Yixing shakes his head with a small laugh as Heechul rings him through and prints him a receipt. Yixing can’t help but think about how much Heechul and Baekhyun would hit it off.

 

Perhaps someday he’ll have to take Baekhyun here.

 

Heechul locks the case back up and hands Yixing his receipt. “Money well spent. Legend has it Hendrix used to play this guitar.”

 

“You say that every time I purchase a guitar from you,” Yixing deadpans.

 

Heechul beams, wide and bright. “Well, someday it may be true.”

 

\-----

 

Kyungsoo’s interview is at 8:30 in the morning, good and early, meaning he just left Yixing and Chanyeol behind at the hotel. Yixing, ever the early riser, woke with him at around 7:00 and went down with him to have their continental breakfast, leaving Chanyeol to snore away, starfished out on the bed he shared with Kyungsoo the night before.

 

Breakfast was quiet, as Yixing and Kyungsoo are both men of few words, but it was pleasant all the same. Until Kyungsoo huffed about how, by the end of the day, he may just secure himself an entire new life, here in the big city.

 

That, in Yixing’s gut, was the opposite of pleasant.

 

Now, however, he’s bidding Chanyeol a quick goodbye, as his friend had been distantly sulking around the hotel room since he woke up and discovered Kyungsoo had already gone, and has now decided to go for a quick walk. It makes Yixing frown a little, unsure what’s gotten into his normally cheery friend. But, he just nods in understanding as Chanyeol tosses on his worn-out denim jacket and heads for the door.

 

It’s still pretty early for Baekhyun to be up, but Yixing tries his chances, anyway. He dials his number on the hotel room’s phone, and listens as the line rings once, twice. 

 

Halfway through the third ring, Baekhyun picks up with a muffled, grumbly, gravelly, “Hello?”

 

“Morning, baby,” Yixing says, sweetly, into the phone. 

 

“Xing,” Baekhyun says, and Yixing can practically  _ hear  _ him perk up. There’s a rustle of some sheets, a long, tired sigh from Baekhyun. Then, he says, “You woke me up,” with an audible pout on his lips. 

 

“Are you really all that mad, though?” Yixing teases.

 

“Yes!” Baekhyun whines back. “I was up late last night helping clean up after the event,”

 

“Then do you want me to hang up?” Yixing asks with a smile, knowing full well the answer he’s about to receive.

 

“No. I want you to come snuggle me.”

 

Yixing laughs. “Yah, Baekhyun, don’t tease me like that,” he says with a sigh. “You know I miss you.”

 

“It’s been one night.”

 

“Are you saying you don’t miss me?”

 

“I haven’t decided yet. Give me a bit.”

 

Yixing chuckles, heart and cheeks warm, before diving into stories of his trip so far. He talks about the car ride and the hotel room. He talks about dinner and about Heechul and about the guitar. Baekhyun audibly begins to wake up, his listening becoming more animated, more engaged as the conversation goes on. The little  _ ah’s  _ and the quiet chuckles, the  _ ehehehe’s  _ that Yixing has come to adore and anticipate bleeding in through the receiver. He hears the rustling of sheets from Baekhyun’s end and settles more comfortably into his own.

 

“You know, leading up to this trip I didn’t think too much of it,” Baekhyun says after some time. “Like, I thought, you don’t make much noise, anyway. So it’s not like it’s going to get shockingly quiet around here.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Boy, was I wrong. Came home, last night and was like… Christ. Why’s my apartment so cold and quiet?”

 

Yixing smiles, picking at the thread holding the duvet above him together. “So you’ve decided you miss me?”

 

“Cute,” Baekhyun mutters. “I’m glad you woke me up with a phone call. Woulda been lonely waking up to the quiet.”

 

Yixing hums, content and bubbling over with warmth. “Yeah, it’s quiet here, too. Kyungsoo’s at his interview and Chanyeol’s taking some mood-walk.”

 

Baekhyun snorts. “A  _ what?” _

 

Yixing laughs, realizing how silly it sounds. “Ah, Yeol was just all sad and grumpy this morning. He went on a walk to cool his brain, or something, I don’t know.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, “I wonder what’s bugging him.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “I never think much of it. Chanyeol’s always been really emotional.”

 

“That big softie.”

 

“Got that right,” Yixing giggles. “When we were kids, Kyungsoo and I made a tally of how many times Chanyeol cries in one day versus how many times Usagi cries in an episode of Sailor Moon.”

 

“Oh my god!”

 

“The results were shocking.”

 

Baekhyun is positively losing his mind on the other end, his loud laughter so piercing and noisy that Yixing has to hold the phone away from his ear. He can even hear the reverberation of Baekhyun’s loud laughter off the corners of his apartment’s walls and ceiling. It makes Yixing smile.

 

“God, your laugh is so fucking loud,” he teases, all soft around the edges.

 

“What do you  _ expect?”  _ Baekhyun shrieks into the phone, his voice strained through his mirth. “You’re killing me!”

 

“It’s  _ true!”  _

 

That just earns another peal of laughter from Baekhyun. It’s a little shorter, this time, but loud and unapologetic all the same. It doesn’t take long for him to calm down, though, to sniffle a bit and compose himself before he dives right into recounting his own evening.

 

“It was a fine evening, I guess, I just… ugh,” Baekhyun says, some time later. They’ve been on the phone long enough that Yixing is starting to grow a little worried for Chanyeol. “Socializing is just so hard. Why does it take so much energy to just, I don’t know- smile? At people, some days.”

 

“It’s exhausting,” Yixing agrees. 

 

“Let’s just lay in bed and never deal with other people, ever again.”

 

“You and your silly fantasies. They’re always about just laying in bed, what’s with that?”

 

Baekhyun snorts, “ _ Well,  _ does it not sound great?”

 

There’s a click of the door being open and shut, and Yixing glances up to see Chanyeol tiptoeing in through the door, trying to be as quiet as possible as he shuts it behind him. He glances over his shoulder at Yixing, flashes him a smile, and Yixing nods back. He looks much better, now. Clearer, more vibrant, less plagued by whatever was bothering him, earlier. Yixing smiles.

 

“Yeah, baby, it does sound great.”

 

“I love laying in bed,” Baekhyun says, and Yixing instantly catches onto that sugariness that Baekhyun speaks with when he starts trying to do… this. He can’t help but roll his eyes. “I can’t wait ‘til you get home. I promise I’ll be right here, already na-”

 

“Chanyeol’s back!” Yixing interrupts. “Say hi, Chanyeol.”

 

“Hi, Baekhyun!” Chanyeol calls out in that unmistakably booming voice.

 

“ _ UUGHHH.” _

 

“Baekhyun says hi.”

 

Chanyeol beams, pleased to hear it. He smacks his hands on his knees as he stands up from where he was perched at the end of the other bed, and heads into the washroom.

 

“I’ll see you later, Baekhyun,” Yixing says, unable to hide the amusement on his voice.

 

“Make it quick, now I’m horny and annoyed!”

 

Yixing busts out into laughter. “Thanks for the info.”

 

“Good byyyyee, Yixing,” Baekhyun sings into the phone. “Have fun in the big exciting city without me.”

 

Yixing wants to tell him that there’s no place on earth more fun and exciting than anywhere with him. “Bye, Baekhyunnie,” he says, instead.

 

\-----

 

“She’s going to hate me.”

 

“She is  _ not  _ going to hate you.”

 

“She already hates me, and I know it.”

 

“Baekhyun!” Yixing chuckles as he turns left onto the familiar street. “My mom’s not- stop hugging yourself like that. My mom is  _ not  _ going to hate you.”

 

Baekhyun huffs, unfolding himself from the fetal position he’d curled into in the passenger seat. He folds his arms indignantly over his chest and pouts out the window at the street lights that pass by. Yixing pulls into the driveway, puts the truck in park and cuts the engine. He looks over at Baekhyun, who looks… genuinely nervous. Not just petulant and silly like Yixing had thought he was being.

 

“Baekhyun, you’ll be fine.”

 

“It’s just…” Baekhyun sighs, sinks into his seat. “Have you met you? You’re so calm and quiet and peaceful, which means you learned it from  _ somewhere,  _ which means your mom is even  _ moreso  _ calm and quiet and peaceful, and I’m loud and terrible and rude and-”

 

“Baekhyun!” Yixing can’t help but laugh a little, exasperated by Baekhyun’s worries. He reaches over the center console, pushes Baekhyun’s floppy bangs off his forehead. “Your loud mouth will charm her like it charmed me.”

 

Baekhyun is quiet for a moment. A very long moment. They just sit in the quiet of Yixing’s truck, barely illuminated by the light above the front door to the house. Yixing watches Baekhyun, harsh shadows cast across his soft, pretty face, as he frowns and thinks and sinks within himself. Yixing grabs his hand.

 

“It’s just,” Baekhyun finally says, hesitant, “I don’t really  _ do  _ moms.”

 

Baekhyun, the foster child. Baekhyun, who bounced from home-to-home, never in one place long enough for it to feel like a family.

 

“Right,” Yixing says. “But… you do people. Really well.”

 

Baekhyun smiles, rubbing his thumb in sweet circles along the backs of Yixing’s knuckles. “Yeah, alright,” he sighs. “Let’s get in there.”

 

Yixing grins as he hops out of the truck. “She’s gonna love you, Baek.”

 

“I get it!” Baekhyun says with a laugh, reaching into the backseat to grab the box of dishes before Yixing can.

 

Together, they head to the door, Baekhyun carrying the box of dishes to his chest, waddling a little at the weight of it. Yixing offers to carry, but Baekhyun refuses. 

 

“What does your mom need all these dishes for, anyway?” Baekhyun asks, as Yixing knocks on the door.

 

“She’ll show you, once we get in there.”

 

“Cryptic,” Baekhyun says, just when Yixing hears the turn of the lock in the door.

 

“Sweetheart,” his mother says, pushing open the screen door to let him in. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomor- oh, hello!”

 

Baekhyun, for a moment, looks petrified. “You didn’t tell her I was coming?”

 

“Oops,” Yixing says, stepping through the threshold. He dips down to kiss his mother on the cheek, all the while holding Baekhyun by his bicep and urging him to follow along. “Ma, this is Baekhyun. I’ve mentioned him, before.”

 

His mother gawks, rushing to Baekhyun’s aid to take the box from him, but Yixing beats her to it, quickly grabbing it and putting it down on the kitchen table. 

 

“Baekhyun, my darling, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” She says, pulling him into a swift, tight hug. Baekhyun blinks over her shoulder at Yixing, and Yixing can’t help but snicker to himself.

 

His mother swirls around, slaps Yixing in the center of his chest. “If I had known you’d be bringing him, I would have been ready! I would have changed out of my pajamas, cooked a meal, I-”

 

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Yixing says, patting his mother on the shoulder. “Didn’t want you to overwhelm Baekhyun with all your hospitality.”

 

His mother rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t falter. She turns back around to Baekhyun, ushering him inside with a hand on his back before closing the door behind him.

 

“Baekhyun, sweetheart, I’m Yuyan, but you can just call me Mama, like Yixing does.”

 

That, noticeably, takes Baekhyun aback. “I… okay.”

 

“I’m so sorry that I don’t have anything prepared for you, I can make some dumplings real quick, I have some leftovers to heat up, I can make you a cup of tea?”

 

Baekhyun pauses, staring down at Yixing’s mother, clearly overwhelmed by everything coming out of her mouth. Yixing knew this would happen, as his mother always does this to new people she meets. She’s a lot like Baekhyun in that sense. She’s a lot to take in, on the first impression.

 

“Tea would be great, Ma,” Yixing says, since it’s obvious Baekhyun is at a loss for an answer.

 

“Are you sure? I can make you boys something real quick.”

 

Yixing meets Baekhyun’s gaze, and sees the gratefulness between his eyelashes. They exchange soft smiles, a little gesture of understanding.

 

Yixing says, “Just tea is perfect.”

 

“Okay, okay. Have a seat, my darlings,” she says, and they obey, sitting next to each other at the table. Baekhyun immediately reaches into Yixing’s lap for his hand, and Yixing squeezes back, reassuring. “Sorry I’m such a mess, Baekhyun. It’s been a long time since Yixing has brought a boy home.”

 

“Oh, Ma,” Yixing groans, plopping his forehead down onto the table. Baekhyun giggles, giving Yixing’s hand a quick squeeze to taunt him.

 

“Especially one so handsome,” his mother continues, even reaching over to ruffle up Baekhyun’s hair as the water in the kettle begins to boil. Yixing turns to rest his cheek on the table, smiling as Baekhyun flushes pink in the cheeks. “Yixing, my love, you never mentioned how cute this one was.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve mentioned it.”

 

“Stoooop,” Baekhyun whines, clearly flustered at the attention. Yixing and his mother both laugh, good naturedly.

 

Yixing can hear the clinking of the tea sets being taken out of the cupboard behind them. He straightens up, leans to his left to give Baekhyun a quick kiss. Baekhyun only flushes brighter.

 

“Let’s just sit and enjoy a cup of tea before heading into the studio, yeah?” his mother says, setting the steaming cups onto the table in front of them. She settles herself into the chair adjacent Yixing, around the corner of the table. She tucks stray hairs that fell from her ponytail behind her ear and smiles at the two of them, as warm and welcoming as she always is.

 

“Your mother is so lovely, Yixing,” Baekhyun says lowly, but purposely loud enough for the both of them to hear. “No wonder you’re so handsome.”

 

“Oh, please,” his mother dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “I wasn’t expecting company, I look like a slob.”

 

“You’re stunning,” Baekhyun says with his ever-charming grin. “And so kind. Thank you for the tea and being so welcoming.”

 

“Aren’t you polite?”

 

“He’s trying very hard to be,” Yixing says, which immediately earns him a scoff and a slap on the arm. “Normally he’s loud and rude and perfect just like that.”

 

His mother laughs, as Baekhyun continues to indignantly oppose. “Sounds like just what you need,” she says. “Your little world is far too quiet.”

 

Baekhyun stops his whining, then. He looks a little shocked by her words, taking a sip of his tea before leaning into Yixing’s side. He says, “Do all Chinese people talk like this, or is it just a family trait?”

 

“Talk like what?” Yixing asks, all warm from the inside out.

 

“All poetic and wise. I thought you were the only person on earth who spoke like an ancient Chinese proverb at all times.”

 

That earns a bout of laughter from both Yixing and his mother. Baekhyun, who seemingly has not stopped blushing since he stepped through the door, smiles to himself, pleased. His shoulders have relaxed a bit, and his grip on Yixing’s hand has loosened into something more comfortable, less like a desperate reach for something to ground him. Yixing’s heart has never felt so warm.

 

“We were both raised by my father, that’s why,” Yixing’s mom says, once they’ve quieted down a bit.

 

Yixing raises his tea to his lips. “You’ve got that right.”

 

They finish their tea around pleasant conversation. His mother and Baekhyun hit it off immediately, just as he knew they would, and the three of them laugh together and chat and have a lovely visit. Their tea cools until there isn’t anything left in their cups, and Yixing’s heart feels unprecedentedly warm, knowing Baekhyun so easily fits himself into his small family. He had no doubt in his mind that his mother would be so enamoured by Baekhyun - he knows the boy has this way of drawing people in, like the magnet he is. Still, it’s so nice to see the way his mother’s eyes crinkle up into the most genuine of smiles whenever Baekhyun speaks.

 

“Shall we head into the studio, now?” His mother asks, collecting their empty teacups and saucers from the table.

 

“Yes, please. I’m insanely curious,” Baekhyun says. “Yixing was being especially cryptic about why you need all these dishes.”

 

Baekhyun grabs the box before anyone else can insist to carry it, and the three of them head down the hallway. Yixing’s mother instructs Baekhyun which door to head into as he walks ahead of them, and she grabs Yixing by the elbow and leans into his space.

 

“Your  _ yehyeh  _ would love him.”

 

Yixing smiles. “I think so, too.”

 

Baekhyun can’t open the door without dropping the entire box of dishes in his hands, so he waits by the door. He flashes a bashful smile, says, “I’m afraid I’ll break them.”

 

“Oh, sweetie,” his mother says, opening the door and then taking the box from him, “that’s the whole point.”

 

Yixing has seen his mother’s studio a million times, and is still always floored by the amount of  _ stuff  _ always lining the shelves that cover every wall. He can’t imagine what it’s like for Baekhyun, his first time seeing all the dishes and vases and glassware, either whole or shattered or stitched back together. There’s always so much light in the room, and with all the shiny glass everywhere, it’s almost blinding.

 

Baekhyun stands there with his jaw on the floor, trying to absorb it all. Yixing teasingly pushes his chin up with an index finger, chuckling at Baekhyun’s flabbergasted expression.

 

“It’s called Kintsugi,” his mother says, placing the box in a corner on the floor. “Traditional Japanese art. You break it, you fix it, it becomes more beautiful than it was before.”

 

Baekhyun blinks, composing himself. He glances at Yixing, and there’s this… mysticism in his gaze. Like the words have some sort of magical effect on him. He’s still wordless, just trying to express himself to Yixing through his gaze, and Yixing just smiles kindly back at him before grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room.

 

“My mom’s run this little business since I was a kid,” Yixing says. “She’s amazing at it.”

 

“I promise you, it isn’t too difficult,” his mother dismisses, bashfully clearing off her workspace. “It isn’t about the skill, anyway. It’s about embracing the beauty in the damaged.”

 

Baekhyun freezes for a moment, before melting into something warm and comfortable. He glances pointedly at Yixing. “I feel like I’ve heard that one, before.”

 

He wanders around the room, just small steps at a time. He’s still holding Yixing’s hand, his palm warm and soft in Yixing’s grip, as he studies every piece sitting proudly on the shelf. He lifts a finger, at one point, drags the tip of it along the squiggling gold line that splits right through a large serving bowl. A little golden path, the beautiful scar of a damaging trauma.

 

“Baekhyunnie,” his mother whispers, seeming to sense that, right now, you must be gentle when entering Baekhyun’s space. Even if it’s only your voice. “Would you like to make something?”

 

Baekhyun startles, turning to Yixing’s mother with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t mind?”

 

His mother clicks her tongue, getting up from her stool to sift through the box for something, returning with a small, round vase in her hand. She holds it up to Baekhyun’s face, glancing between his dumbfounded expression and the vase and its pretty floral pattern in her hand.

 

“Yes,” she says, entirely sure. “This one is for you.”

 

Baekhyun only blinks at her as he releases Yixing’s hand to accept the vase that she adds to him. He holds it carefully in his palms, stares down at it with this intensity in his brow. Yixing wonders what’s gotten into him, why he’s so blown away by it all. To Yixing, it’s just a bunch of broken vases, the same thing he’s seen since he was a child. He figures, to Baekhyun, it might be something different. Something closer to what his mother sees in all this mess. The beauty in the breakage.

 

“Drop it.”

 

Baekhyun’s head whips up. “What?”

 

His mother nods emphatically, urging him with a wave of her wrist. “Break it!”

 

“I…”

 

“You can’t mend it if it isn’t broken. Drop it!”

 

He looks back down at the vase in his hands as Yixing watches the entire exchange with a small smile on his face. It’s so funny, seeing Baekhyun so out of his element, so overwhelmed by the smallest of requests. He watches Baekhyun take a big, steadying breath.

 

Then, he drops it.

 

It clings, a melodic, metallic sound as it hits the floor. It splits into the three pieces, no chips, just winding, smooth lines at every edge.

 

“Oh, oh!” His mother says, crouching down to collect the pieces. “This is going to be beautiful. You’re a natural, already!”

 

Baekhyun giggles, scratches the back of his head. “All I did was drop it.”

 

“And you did it incredibly well,” she says, smiling from ear-to-ear. She hands the pieces to Baekhyun and uses a grip on his hips to urge him toward the work desk. “Come, now, let’s make some art.”

 

Yixing smiles, stuffing his hands into his pocket and breathing a pleasant sigh. He turns to the shelves of pieces, studies his mother’s work. He reads the little labels on them, the names of the people who purchased them, waiting to be sent off to their homes. He listens, distantly, as his mother murmurs instructions to Baekhyun, telling him how to mix the flour to become a paste, urging him and praising him for doing so well.

 

He continues to dismiss her, saying he isn’t doing much of anything at all. She continues to insist that he’s doing amazing.

 

Yixing thinks she means more than just the vase. Maybe she can see it, without being told. She’s commending his hard work for an entirely different kind of mending.

 

He leaves the studio, leaving them to it. He sits in the living room and finds a book to skim through. There’s laughter and chatter coming from the studio, where the light from the door pours out into the hallway, a beautiful rectangle of bright yellow light in the darkest of corridors. He finds it fitting. He knows another certain bright yellow light, coming from the exact same place.

 

It’s some time later, that Baekhyun comes out of the studio. He creeps down the hallway, turning his head this way and that, in search of Yixing. When he sees him, his face lights up, and he skips over to the armchair in which Yixing is sitting, perching himself on Yixing’s knee.

 

“Having fun?” Yixing asks, voice whisper soft.

 

Baekhyun looks so pretty in the low light of the table lamp, his yellow hair flopping over his eyes as he nods his head.

 

“Your mom is so nice.”

 

“She is, isn’t she?”

 

“No wonder you’re so perfect.”

 

Yixing shakes his head, bashful smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His hand finds the small of Baekhyun’s back, rubbing warm circles against the softness of his sweater. “How’s the vase coming along?”

 

“Good. It’s just drying, now.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Hey, uh… I know I was freaked out that you didn’t tell your mom I was coming, but. I know why you did that.” He huffs, pushes his hair back off his forehead. Yixing notices the gold paint on his knuckles. “So, thanks.”

 

“She would have made you so much food.”

 

“I know,” Baekhyun says, lips tilting into a small, crooked smile. “You’re so thoughtful.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “I just didn’t want you to feel in over your head.”

 

“Like I said,” Baekhyun murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto Yixing’s lips, “thoughtful.”

 

“Baekhyunieeee!” his mother calls from down the hall, making Baekhyun pull back a bit. He looks forlornly at Yixing, apologetic that he has to get up, but Yixing just offers him a gentle smile and a pat on the hip.

 

“Go, finish your vase.”

 

Baekhyun bites his bottom lip, his eyes glimmering in the yellowish light, that sparkle within him that drew Yixing in, in the first place. He surges in, one last brief, glorious kiss. And then he’s off of Yixing’s lap and scurrying down the hallway.

 

Yixing melts into the cushions on the chair.

 

\-----

 

The drive back to his apartment is quiet, with the broken radio and Baekhyun just sitting there, staring at the vase he holds between careful palms above his lap. His head stays ducked down the entire drive, just studying the vase in his hands. Whenever Yixing spares a glance at him, he catches him frowning, deep in thought, tracing his thumb along the path of gold that cuts through the glass of the vase in such a gorgeous, simplistic pattern. It’s cute, Yixing thinks. How important this little vase seems to Baekhyun. He wonders the last time Baekhyun made something with his hands.

 

Since he made music on that piano, perhaps.

 

“I went with gold paint, instead of silver,” Baekhyun says, after nearly ten minutes of silence, and home just up the street. “Gold goes better with the red flowers.”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Yixing agrees, pulling into his parking spot. He cuts the engine, and the truck is silent, once again.

 

Baekhyun nods, minutely. “But it isn’t just about the vase, is it?”

 

Yixing doesn’t think he’s expecting an answer.

 

Together, they exit the truck and head up towards the building, up the stairs to Yixing’s apartment, hand in hand. Baekhyun holds the vase in his other hand, careful not to drop it, studying it again as Yixing wiggles his key in the lock and opens the door.

 

Baekhyun wanders in, first. He puts the vase on the bookshelf, right next to a photo of Yixing and his grandfather, from when Yixing was just a kid.

 

“I’ll keep you there, for now.”

 

Yixing smiles to himself before stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I’m gonna shower, real quick.”

 

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, giving his vase one last lingering glance before he turns to walk up to Yixing, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I’ll be in bed. Meet you there.”

 

A quick kiss, and they part ways.

 

“Oh, hey,” Baekhyun says, just as he’s sliding in under the covers, in just his boxers and one of Yixing’s t-shirts. Yixing looks up from where he was grabbing a fresh towel to look at him. “I have an appointment in the city, next week. A check-up with my psychiatrist, I… I would ask Jongdae but I know he’s got some meeting with clients, and I would hate to have to take the train. I was just- I’m just wondering if…”

 

“I’d love to,” Yixing says, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed, next to Baekhyun’s hip. “I’ll gladly take you.”

 

“It’s on the Thursday, in the afternoon. The sixth.”

 

Yixing nods. “I’ll work something out with Chanyeol. I’ll work a couple of full days for him, or something.”

 

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, voice quiet and soft and… timid. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course, baby.”

 

Baekhyun looks up at Yixing for a long moment, and Yixing just stares back. He looks like he wants to say something, judging by the purse of his lips and the slight furrow of his brow. There’s a hesitance to him, like he doesn’t want Yixing to head off, quite yet. It grounds Yixing where he is, nails him to his spot on the edge of this bed.

 

Eventually, Baekhyun yawns. “Kiss me goodnight,” he says, voice manipulated around his pout. “I might be asleep by the time you’re done your shower.”

 

Yixing breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, smiling all the way down to bring his face inches from Baekhyun’s. From here, he can see the faint freckles on the top of Baekhyun’s nose and cheeks. He can see, faintly, where pupil ends and dark, dark irises begin. Yixing never, ever wants to move from this spot.

 

“You’re silly,” he says, before leaning in and pressing softly into Baekhyun’s lips.

 

Baekhyun opens up, accepts the kiss and breathes Yixing in. All warm, soft, languid and lethargic. Perfect. Yixing feels it in the pit of his belly, a pleasant curl and delightful flutter. When Baekhyun pulls back, Yixing feels all the air in his lungs leave with him.

 

“Mmm, sleepy,” Baekhyun corrects.

 

And he looks so undeniably adorable, like this. Post-kiss drowsiness and that satisfied little glint in his eye. Yixing almost wants to tell him he loves him, but he knows that isn’t right. He doesn’t feel that way.

 

Not yet.

 

“Night, Baekhyun,” he says, instead.

 

Baekhyun releases some mixture of a hum and a groan as he settles further under the blankets, curls up onto his side. “Spoon me when you come to bed.”

 

Yixing can’t stop the smile from creeping across his face. “Roger that.”

 

He flicks off the bedside lamp as he stands up. All he can see, in the darkness, is a mess of bright white hair, sticking out from under the blankets.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun sleeps the entire trip into Seoul. 

 

Yixing doesn’t mind, in fact, he finds it pretty endearing to glance to his right and see Baekhyun curled up in the passenger seat. With his knees hugged tight to his chest and his temple leaning against the window and his mouth just hardly agape around his sleepy breaths, Yixing almost coos aloud every time he spares him a look. 

 

It’s quiet, without music and without Baekhyun’s chatter. Yixing just hums little tunes to himself, melodies that come to him as he drives along. The bright sun of an autumn afternoon warming the cab into the most undeniable of comforts. 

 

Baekhyun’s appointment is relatively early in the afternoon, so they barely have enough time to check in, park the vehicle in the hotel lot, and rush off down the street toward Baekhyun’s psychiatrist's office. They scuff hurried feet along the pavement, hand in hand, giggling like maniacs. Until, shortly, they’re diving in through the revolving doors into a large medical centre, decorated to be deliberately warm and inviting.

 

Baekhyun stiffens, a little bit. Yixing steps in close.

 

“So this is where I spent many years in rehab,” Baekhyun singsongs in a humorously cheerful voice. “Super great time in my life, lots of great memories.”

 

Yixing swings their hands between them, as Baekhyun guides him to the elevator and presses the button to go up. “You’re silly.”

 

The elevator dings as the door opens and they step inside. Baekhyun presses the button for the third floor. “You say that an awful lot.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “I’m never wrong.”

 

The elevator dings again, and they step out into a little corridor. The carpets are a pale beige, the walls littered in attractive yet unassuming art. Before them stands a glass door, with stickered decals on the window.

 

_ Dr. Lee, MSc. Psychiatry _

 

Without any form of hesitation, Baekhyun pulls the door open and stalks through the threshold. Yixing struggles to keep up with him, with their hands still clasped together. He looks around as Baekhyun drags him to the front desk, sees a small waiting area, a TV humming lowly in the corner of the room, magazines stacked on tables.

 

It’s empty. Yixing figures that makes sense, it being a psychiatrist’s office, and all. 

 

“Baekhyunnie!” Says the girl behind the desk. “Don’t you look incredible?”

 

Baekhyun smacks on that award-winning smile of his. “Hey, gorgeous, long time no see! Just wanted to check in.”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” she responds, watching her monitor as she types up something with impossibly fast fingers. Then, she glances up, over Baekhyun’s shoulder at Yixing. “Who’s this?” she asks. “I don’t think she’ll let you bring anyone in…”

 

“Oh, no, this is Yixing,” Baekhyun says, pulling Yixing up to his side. “He’s just gonna wait out here, it’s all good.”

 

The girl behind the desk, Soojung, it says on the little plaque on her desk, smiles kindly at the two of them. “Great. She’ll be ready for you in just a sec.”

 

They turn to sit in the chairs in the waiting room, knees turned toward each other, ready to just sit and chat. Yixing now sees the little remnants of Baekhyun’s nap from the trip, the slight puffiness in his eyes from sleeping in the truck before immediately rushing around. Yixing reaches up to pinch his cheek.

 

“She seems nice,” he says.

 

Baekhyun nods. “She’s seen me through some tough times.”

 

“I bet.” He plops an elbow on the armrest and a cheek on his fist. He blinks up at Baekhyun, who’s just watching him with this odd, unreadable expression on his face. “How often do you come for check-ups?”

 

Baekhyun sits back, stretching his arms above his head. “It used to be more frequent, but now twice a year. In the spring and in the fall.” He shrugs. “Just to check in and see how I’m doing. My regular doctor deals with my medications and every day stuff.”

 

Yixing nods. “Makes sense.”

 

“Baekhyun?”

 

The two of them whip their heads to see a tall, attractive, older woman standing outside the door to her private office. She’s dressed smartly in a pencil skirt and blazer, her dark hair pulled back tight off her beautiful, distinguished face. From the corner of Yixing’s eye, he sees Baekhyun light up with a huge smile.

 

“Baekhyun, my dear, come in,” she urges, gesturing for him to head in through the door. 

 

Baekhyun gives one last pat to Yixing’s knee before pouncing up from his seat and making the short few steps over to her. He leans in to give her a friendly kiss on the cheek. She’s taller than him in her heels.

 

“How are you?” he asks, as she ushers him through the threshold with a hand on his back.

 

“I’m supposed to ask you that,” she says with a smile, and just as she’s closing the door behind them, Yixing hears her say, “Who’s that out there? He’s cute.”

 

Yixing shakes his head, smiling to himself. He grabs a magazine off the end table on his left. He doesn’t even glance at the cover, just opens it and begins to read. He isn’t sure how long he’ll be waiting here.

 

He doesn’t mind at all.

 

\-----

 

When Baekhyun emerges, an hour or so later, Yixing is practically dozing off in his seat. It jolts him upright, though, when he hears the unmistakable sound of Baekhyun’s voice as he and his doctor finally rejoin them in the main office area. They come out, smiling at one another as they exchange quiet words, and Yixing tries not to eavesdrop, but it’s awfully difficult when there’s only four people in such a small amount of space.

 

“I’m proud of you Baekhyun,” he hears her say, “you seem to be doing so well.”

 

“I have been, all things considered.”

 

Yixing doesn’t miss the way Dr. Lee glances pointedly at him, where he sits poised in his seat, waiting for Baekhyun. Before she can say anything, or before Yixing can say anything, someone walks into the office space, hands stuffed into their hoodie pockets. They barely have the time for Soojung to hand Baekhyun his next appointment card before they hurry out, allowing Dr. Lee to take in her next client.

 

They step into the elevator, and Baekhyun wraps a hand around Yixing’s elbow and holds him close.

 

“So, how’d it go?”

 

Baekhyun hums. “Really well. She says I’ve made a lot of progress.”

 

A ding, and they’re stepping out into the main lobby. Yixing hugs his jacket closer to himself, knowing the evenings get chilly this time of year.

 

“You have,” he says. “I can see it, myself.”

 

Baekhyun presses his smile into the fabric of Yixing’s sleeve. “We talked a lot about you.”

 

“Yeah? Good things, I hope.”

 

They step through the revolving doors and out onto the street. Now that the nine-to-five workday is over, the sidewalks are crowded beyond belief. Yixing pulls Baekhyun even closer against his side.

 

“Only the best of things,” Baekhyun says, voice soft, despite being audible over all the ruckus of the city around them. “You aren’t a crutch or some coping mechanism, you’re- you’re just… really nice.”

 

His voice is tender at the edges, genuine at the very core of each word. It makes Yixing feel warm all over, despite the nipping of the frigid autumn air. He smiles, tilts his chin down to press a kiss into Baekhyun’s hair, where his head is resting on his shoulder. He’s sure that isn’t comfortable, when they’re walking like this, but he’s certainly not complaining about having Baekhyun as close as can be.

 

They walk together for a little bit, silently agreeing to find somewhere for dinner. No longer are they in a rush, like they have been all day, and it’s nice to just wander along the sidewalks with Baekhyun, like this. The glow of the neon signs around them make Baekhyun look immeasurably surreal.

 

Yixing points to a tall building a couple blocks away. “That’s the firm Kyungsoo interviewed with.”

 

“Fancy,” Baekhyun whistles. “Did the interview go well?”

 

Yixing nods, despite the vice in his chest, gripping his heart and soul in a death grip, leaving him little room to breathe. “I’m sure he’s got the job.”

 

“Happy for him.”

 

Yixing drags his heels along the concrete. “Yeah.”

 

Baekhyun tells him there’s this restaurant he likes, that he frequently visits when he has to venture into the city for his appointments, so he takes the lead as they tread the sidewalks, dodging bodies and holding each other close. It’s a beautiful evening, despite the biting wind, and Yixing feels happy. Happy to be here, latched onto Baekhyun like if they separate an inch, they’ll explode. He smiles to himself.

 

Then, he remembers something.

 

“My birthday is tomorrow.”

 

“ _ What!?”  _ Baekhyun halts in his tracks, practically causing Yixing to trip over him. “It’s your- why didn’t you tell me!”

 

Yixing laughs at Baekhyun’s horrified expression, tugs him in tight against him to give him a squeeze. “I forgot.”

 

Baekhyun pouts, leaning all of his weight onto Yixing’s side, making the two of them fumble for a few steps before regaining their footing. He rests his chin on Yixing’s shoulder, pouts right up against his cheek, practically. His breath creates little clouds in the cold air around Yixing’s face.

 

“Well, I could have planned something!”

 

Yixing turns his head to look at him. They bump noses, and Yixing can’t stop the warmth from spreading within him, the smile that pulls at his lips. “You don’t have to. I’ll be spending the day with you, no?”

 

Baekhyun just blinks at him. From this close, as they stumble along the streets blindly, they have to look at each other cross-eyed.

 

Yixing continues, “That’s all I need.”

 

Baekhyun, and this nice trip into the city. Maybe in the morning they’ll go find somewhere to go for a fancy breakfast. They’ll walk the streets, hand-in-hand. Discover every corner, every crack, every crevice of this big, vibrant city together. This place is not as intimidating as Yixing thought it to be. It’s loud and it’s untiring. But so is another, very prominent, thing in his life.

 

Baekhyun’s expression softens further, before he’s unlatching himself from Yixing’s side. He returns to a much more suitable form of physical touch, just hooked together at the elbows, as he announces the restaurant is just around the corner.

 

\-----

 

Yixing’s skin is stinging with the cold as they finally make it through the lobby doors of their hotel, far later than they had planned to be.

 

They got carried away, eating and drinking and talking, and now they’re both red in the face from both slight buzzes and the bitter air of autumn evenings. Baekhyun is giggling into his shoulder as Yixing presses the button for the elevator, his waist wrapped snugly in Baekhyun’s arms. They’re both far too giddy beyond good reason. They had only had a couple drinks. Just something about the evening… their company.

 

Whatever it was, they were both feeding off of each other’s elated, excited energy, and have not stopped giggling since before dessert.

 

In the safety of the elevator, Yixing spins around in Baekhyun’s hold, now standing nose-to-nose, grinning embarrassingly wide at one another. Baekhyun’s hair is a windblown mess of tangles on his head, and his cheeks are round and flushed and so endearing. Yixing’s stomach has never twisted and turned so much in his life.

 

“Just one,” he says, unable to keep the mirth from surfacing in his voice. “Just one-”

 

And kisses Baekhyun soundly on the mouth.

 

Baekhyun hums, rises onto his tiptoes even though he doesn’t need  _ much  _ height to reach Yixing’s level. As Yixing begins to pull back, Baekhyun places a hand on the back of Yixing’s head, grounding him there with his fingers tangled in his hair.

 

“I said just o-”

 

“One more.”

 

So Yixing allows one more.

 

The elevator doors open, just as they’re stepping away from each other. Immediately, Baekhyun grabs him by the hand and sprints down the hallway toward their room. Yixing nearly faceplants, trying to keep up, but he’s laughing nonetheless, full to bursting with this overflowing carelessness and silliness that he hasn’t a clue where it came from.

 

It’s okay, though. Baekhyun is in the same state. They can be silly together, all they want.

 

Baekhyun stops at their door, waits for Yixing to get the key card and open it up for them. He latches himself to Yixing’s back like his life depends on it, peppers kisses down the back of Yixing’s neck, making him shudder and squirm under Baekhyun’s death grip.

 

“Baekhyunnie,” he giggles, struggling to turn the door knob.

 

“Hurry up and get inside!”

 

‘Okay, okay, geez.”

 

Finally, the door is opened and then closed behind them, which means Baekhyun is immediately spinning Yixing around to crash their mouths together in the most rushed, uncoordinated kiss ever shared. They both laugh into each other’s skin, wrapping their arms and hands and hearts around each other as they settle into a more comfortable pace, working perfectly together like they have from the very start.

 

Baekhyun, in his arms, is eager and ecstatic and receptive, giving Yixing everything he has to offer through kiss after kiss after kiss. Yixing’s chest swells, as it does an awful lot, these days, and he just wraps his arms tighter around Baekhyun’s waist, thinking that even somehow fusing their bodies together into one form would  _ never  _ be close enough. He will always wish Baekhyun were somehow closer.

 

“Level?” he asks, breathless, between kisses.

 

Baekhyun hums. Kisses like his life depends on it. “One,” he says against Yixing’s lips. “No, zero. Fuck- I’m, like, permanently a negative ten when I’m with you.”

 

Yixing laughs, and it disappears somewhere between Baekhyun lips. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

 

“Very good,” Baekhyun says, wholeheartedly. Then, he pulls back to look Yixing right in the eye and say, “Bed?”

 

“Bed.”

 

They haven’t even turned the lights on in the hotel room, so they’re stumbling over suitcases and shoes and laughing at each other’s clumsiness on their way to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. Baekhyun gets there first, shuffling himself up against the pillows, his knees spread for Yixing to comfortably settle himself between. They kiss again. Again, and again. Shirts are abandoned on the floor, then pants, then underwear, and soon they’re just a tangled mess of limbs on the bed, laughing into skin as they kiss the life out of each other, rolling around the bed until they’re so tangled in the sheets they can’t move their legs.

 

‘Free us! Free us!!!” Baekhyun is shrieking underneath him, as they both kick their legs as violently as possible in an attempt to loosen the vice around them. Yixing is laughing so hard his stomach hurts, his face buried in the juncture between Baekhyun’s neck and shoulder. He plants a kiss there, before he realizes what he’s done and pulls back as if he were just electrocuted.

 

Baekhyun looks up at him, knowingly. There’s an understanding little smile on his face. “It’s okay.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Yixing says, “for a moment I forgot about your neck, I-I’m sorry.”

 

Baekhyun laughs fondly, shakes his head a little. “I said it’s okay.”

 

Yixing gives one final kick, and the sheets finally loosen around their legs.

 

“Oh, thank god!” Baekhyun groans, finally able to spread his legs a little further to make more room for Yixing’s hips between them.

 

Yixing just stares down at him a moment. Their eyes have long adjusted to the darkness of the room, and the lights from the city coming in through the window actually do a marvellous job of highlighting the heights of Baekhyun’s features. The bridge of his nose, the balls of his cheeks, the shape of his collarbones. His hair is a staticky mess from rolling around in the sheets so much, and it makes Yixing smile, a little overwhelmed by how unbelievably full his heart feels, right now.

 

“Quit staring at me so much,” Baekhyun murmurs, looking genuinely bashful under Yixing’s gaze. “You always do this.”

 

“But you’re always so easy to stare at,” Yixing chides back, leaning down to press a long, deliberate kiss to Baekhyun’s lips. Then, his chin, the hollow between his collarbones. “You’re just so easy to admire.”

 

Baekhyun scoffs a little, as though he wants to argue, but Yixing continues to pepper his skin with kisses. His sternum, his shoulders, that mole beneath his ribs. Each kiss reverent and zealous. He smells like the fabric softener that his apartment always smells like, he’s warm and soft like the  _ gush  _ inside Yixing whenever he’s with him. 

 

Three kisses along the softest spot on the bottom of his belly. He can’t help but give it a light nip as he pulls back. One for each hip bone. To the tops of his thighs.

 

Baekhyun releases a shaky sigh. He whispers, “God, you make me feel like- like I’m…”

 

He trails off, but Yixing understands. He murmurs, against the soft flesh on the inside of Baekhyun’s thigh, “Like a million bucks?”

 

Yixing kisses some more. What once was just gracious and solemn becoming open-mouthed and dripping in desire. A few more kisses, up the insides of his thighs, getting closer to where Yixing really wants to be, until Baekhyun finally speaks.

 

“Like I’m any good at all.”

 

That makes Yixing halt all movement. He looks up, to see Baekhyun with an arm tossed over his eyes, his kiss-swollen lips agape around his breath. Yixing crawls up, back to Baekhyun’s level. Surely, Baekhyun can feel his breath against his lips, but he makes no move to move his arm from across his face. Still, Yixing kisses him. He physically feels Baekhyun relax beneath him.

 

He sees no point in refuting him. So, instead, Yixing validates him. “You’re worth more than what anyone can give you.”

 

At that, Baekhyun finally moves his arm, even if it’s just to look up at Yixing, incredulous and disbelieving. “Do you really just go around saying things like that?”

 

Yixing laughs, shaking his head. “No. Just to you.”

 

“I’m special, huh?” Baekhyun lilts, sliding hot hands down Yixing’s spine.

 

“Very.”

 

Baekhyun hums, his palms sliding down to Yixing’s ass, using his grip to push their hips harder against each other. “Then  _ show me  _ how special.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Yixing asks, already sliding down Baekhyun’s torso to where he was. He continues looking up at Baekhyun, as he hooks Baekhyun’s thighs over his shoulders, watches his face twist into this mixture of fond and smug.

 

“You’re damn right it is.”

 

Yixing presses a hot kiss to the top of Baekhyun’s thigh, so close to his pelvis that it makes the boy beneath him squirm up off the bed in anticipation. Yixing chuckles, pleased with himself, his breath hot against Baekhyun’s skin.

 

“Challenge gladly accepted.”

 

\-----

 

The sun is bright, against the backs of Yixing’s eyelids. It makes him groan, not quite ready to wake, yet, and he doesn’t know what it was that startled him, at all. Until he hears the rustling of sheets next to him, and remembers where he is and who he’s with.

 

He rolls over, squints one eye open, to see Baekhyun settling himself back under the covers, looking as though he was just up and at it. Baekhyun notices Yixing waking up and stops in his tracks, looking like a deer in the headlights. Yixing can only notice the absolute mop of bedhead sitting proudly atop Baekhyun’s head, and think to himself how badly he needs a haircut.

 

“Shhh, you’re not supposed to be awake, yet,” Baekhyun whispers, finally sliding himself all the way beneath the covers.

 

Yixing hums, closing his eyes again. “How am I supposed to sleep when you’re here looking so cute?” he mumbles in response, reaching across the mattress to pull Baekhyun up against him. He’s so unfairly warm. Yixing could just stay right here, forever.

 

“Nooo,” Baekhyun whispers, practically just breathes, not sounding the slightest bit upset by the current situation. He pets Yixing’s hair back with docile hands, his fingers combing through the tangles. It makes Yixing hum, pleased, all over again. “You’re supposed to be asleep until I wake you up with breakfast.”

 

Now,  _ that _ peaks Yixing’s interest. He opens his eyes, tilts his chin up to look right at Baekhyun, who’s looking down at him with the entire sunrise in his eyes. “Breakfast?”

 

Baekhyun’s face melts into the sweetest of smiles. The white morning sunlight  _ wishes  _ it were as bright. “Yeah, I ordered room service.”

 

“Did you get pancakes?”

 

Baekhyun laughs, just a subtle sound, under his breath. “Yes, of course.”

 

“You’re so good to me,” Yixing responds, closing his eyes and tucking his face into Baekhyun’s chest again. Baekhyun is still combing his fingers through Yixing’s hair. He can’t help but think this is the greatest morning anyone could ask for.

 

“Thought we’d spend your birthday in,” Baekhyun says, murmurs. “Just milk the hotel of what it’s worth and lay in bed for hours.”

 

“Perfect,” Yixing says, and presses a kiss to the center of Baekhyun’s chest. Even through the fabric of his t-shirt, his skin is so warm. All he can hear is the rhythm of Baekhyun’s heart and the rustling of Baekhyun’s fingers in his hair.

 

Distantly, though, he hears the sounds of traffic and chaos outside. He can’t help but think it’s such a perfect background noise. Cathartic and chaotic, while here, between them, Yixing has never felt more at peace.

 

Quietly, Baekhyun begins to hum  _ Happy Birthday  _ to Yixing, his voice getting lost somewhere in Yixing’s hair, where he’s pressed his lips and decided that’s where they’ll stay. 

 

“Happy birthday, Yixing,” Baekhyun whispers. Yixing hums. “I’m really glad I get to spend today with you.”

 

Yixing hopes room service take its sweet time, because he never wants either of them to move from this spot. Not anytime soon.

 

\-----

 

Yixing is glancing anxiously at the clock, knowing Chanyeol should be in to take over for the afternoon, any second now. Yixing has been antsy all day, just aching to go spend the afternoon with the only person who could possibly make him feel better on days like this. On rainy Thursdays where Yixing receives news that’s  _ supposed  _ to be good, but he can’t help but feel is  _ terrible. _

 

The door chimes, and in comes Chanyeol. He, too, looks like he’s having a rough day, shadowy and gloomy, like he has his very own rain cloud above him.

 

“Did Kyungsoo call you?” Chanyeol asks, stepping past the counter to hang his jacket just inside the door to the backroom. 

 

Yixing unclenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

 

“Two weeks.”

 

“I know.”

 

They’re both so very evidently upset by the news. The news that Kyungsoo got his job, has achieved his dreams, will be chasing after his success in what feels like no time at all. They should be thrilled. They both  _ know  _ they should be thrilled for their friend. Out of the three of them, Kyungsoo always had the most potential within him.

 

Yixing and Chanyeol are both miserable. It’s almost hilarious.

 

Chanyeol’s the first to bring it up. “Why are you so upset?”

 

Yixing shrugs, organizing the music books by level of difficulty so he can put them back on the shelf. “You know me. I’m not good with change.”

 

He’s done organizing, so he walks over to the shelf to place them in their proper order. He sees Chanyeol sitting on one of the stools behind the counter, his strong shoulders sunken and his face forlorn. He can’t help but pat his friend on the head when he returns to his spot behind the counter.

 

Yixing continues, “I guess I’ll just never understand those who choose to leave.”

 

Chanyeol nods. “Me neither. I like it here.”

 

Yixing smiles. 

 

He still has a little bit of book balancing to do, so he seats himself behind the counter to finish this off before he leaves. Chanyeol sighs, where he sits, and leans his elbows on the counter. He looks positively defeated, and it fills Yixing with a bit of concern.

 

“Why are  _ you  _ so upset?”

 

Chanyeol huffs out a long breath, shakes his head. “It’s… nothing.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst liar on earth, Park.”

 

Again, Chanyeol just shakes his head.

 

“It feels redundant to tell you.”

 

Yixing frowns, but doesn’t press any further. Clearly, this is something Chanyeol doesn’t want to share, for reasons Yixing doesn’t quite understand, but that’s okay. Instead, Yixing just goes back to crunching some numbers, and pondering a little bit about what’s up with Chanyeol’s sour mood. 

 

He thinks about the way he’s behaved, lately. The way he always retreats a little when Kyungsoo mentions his potential future in the city. The walk he took the morning of Kyungsoo’s interview. The downcast eyes and quickly changed subjects. 

 

Mostly, though, he thinks about all of Chanyeol’s silly little antics, and how he gets  _ extra  _ silly when Kyungsoo’s around. Big, lopsided smiles and sparkly eyes and desperate attempts to earn a laugh from the boy in question.

 

Yixing lifts his head from where he was looking down at his books. “Oh.”

 

Chanyeol laughs, a tad cynically. “Yeah.”

 

“You’re not going to tell him?”

 

Chanyeol shakes his head. “No, there’s no point,” he says. “I’m… okay with being here forever. Kyungsoo’s too smart and talented for a little town like ours… I- I don’t wanna be the thing that holds him back.”

 

“You’re nervous he’ll turn you down,” Yixing says, sympathetic smile on his face. 

 

Chanyeol smiles in response, nodding minutely. “Yeah, that too.”

 

Yixing has nothing to say that could counter Chanyeol’s point, so he says nothing. He returns to his paperwork, feeling a little sad for Chanyeol, but completely getting it, nonetheless. He understands Chanyeol’s choice to remain silent. He figures he would probably do the same thing in that situation.

 

He finishes up his work, closing up the notebook and getting up from his seat to grab his coat from the back room.

 

“I’m heading out, now,” Yixing says. Chanyeol grunts his acknowledgement. “You and Soo are still more than welcome to come over for a movie and stuff, later. Baekhyun’s slaving away in the kitchen, as we speak.”

 

Chanyeol smiles. “Yeah I’ll be there. Later, boss.”   
  


“Bye, Chanyeol.”

 

The jingle bells ring as Yixing pushes the door open and steps out into the bitter cold of mid-October. Even in the afternoon, when the sun is high in the sky, the air is brutal and sharp. It bites and nips at Yixing’s cheeks as he hurries along the sidewalk, stuffing his hands into his pockets and thinking it’s about time he starts taking the truck to work instead of trying to walk it. He regrets it every time.

 

As he walks, he thinks. He thinks about Kyungsoo, leaving, off on his adventure and reaching his potential.He thinks about Chanyeol, here, where he’s comfortable and happy and knows his future resides here, at home. Chanyeol’s a cloud that rained down on his forever home a long time ago. Kyungsoo… he still has some drifting to do.

 

He doesn’t like to think about what he would do if he were in Chanyeol’s shoes. He’s glad he has Baekhyun, who’s here, a packaged deal with the place he knows and loves. He doesn’t need to sacrifice one for the other. He can have the life he knows, he can have his familiarity, and, most importantly, he can have Baekhyun on top of it all.

 

Boy, did he sure hit the jackpot.

 

Before he realizes how far his legs have wandered, he’s home, wiggling the key in his lock and swinging open the front door to the smell of  _ something  _ delicious cooking in the oven. He hums at the smell of it, toeing off his boots before tip-toeing his way into the kitchen, where Baekhyun is painstakingly reading over a recipe on his cell phone, his back to Yixing. He takes the opportunity to sneak up behind him, snatch him up in a tight hug from behind, earning a grunt from Baekhyun as the wind’s knocked out of him.

 

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Yixing, honey,” he says through exasperated giggles. “Give me a heart attack why don’t ya?”

 

Yixing beams, so,  _ so  _ happy he doesn’t have to sacrifice Baekhyun for his future in this city. He leans down to plant a wet, sloppy kiss to Baekhyun’s cheek, which just makes him grimace and try to twist out of Yixing’s hold.

 

“I’m just so happy to come home to you,” Yixing says, letting Baekhyun step away just far enough for him to spin around and be pulled back in, chest-to-chest. “It smells amazing in here.”

 

“This fancy veggie lasagna I found on Pinterest,” Baekhyun says, releasing one hand from where it was wrapped around Yixing’s waist to grab his phone and wave the screen in front of Yixing’s face.

 

“On the what-now?” Yixing asks, not even caring about an answer as he leans down to give Baekhyun a kiss on the lips before stepping away to go peek inside the oven.

 

“You’re old and uncultured,” Baekhyun says, putting his phone back on the counter. “That shit takes, like, twenty years in the oven. And then I wanna try this zucchini loaf I pinned, too.”

 

“Not even gonna ask.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, shaking his head. He stands at the counter, his weight on one hip, scrolling through his phone a bit. He has the fresh zucchinis Ms. Kim gave Yixing out on the counter, washed and ready to be chopped up. So, Yixing straightens up from where he was crouched in front of the oven, making his way over to Baekhyun’s side, where the zucchinis are.

 

“Did you talk to Kyungsoo, today?” Baekhyun asks, startling Yixing.

 

Yixing grabs a knife out of the block, readies one of the zucchinis. “Yeah, he called me at the store.”

 

“He called here, too, this morning,” Baekhyun says. “Said he’d already given you the news, but thought to tell me, too. I thought that was nice.”

 

“My friends love you.”  _ Chop. _

 

Baekhyun smiles. “Yeah, I know. Don’t cut the pieces too small.”

 

“Gotcha,” Yixing says. A small moment passes, where Baekhyun just quietly measures out the other ingredients. Yixing continues, “He told Chanyeol, too.”

 

“Well, I’d imagine he would. How’s he feel about the news?”

 

Yixing can only chuckle, unable to hide the slight cynicism from it.

 

Baekhyun’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

 

“Chanyeol is… Chanyeol’s torn,” Yixing says, “to say the least.”

 

It surprises Yixing, when Baekhyun nods, knowingly. “So, he finally admitted it, huh? Did he tell Kyungsoo?”

 

“You know?” 

 

“Oh, come  _ on,  _ Yixing, a blind man could see Chanyeol’s raging hearteyes for that tiny man,” Baekhyun says. Yixing laughs. “But, did he tell him?”

 

Yixing shakes his head. “No. He doesn’t think he’s going to.”

 

“Aww,” Baekhyun whines. “How come?”

 

Yixing shrugs. “There’s no real point, you know? Kyungsoo’s leaving, Chanyeol wants to stay, and he doesn’t want there to be anything that could possibly hold Kyungsoo back.”

 

“No point? How about for the sake of expressing your feelings like an adult, instead of just sitting around wondering ‘what if?’”

 

Yixing just blinks, unable to think of a response.

 

“Aren’t  _ you _ the one who values honesty so much, Zhang?” Baekhyun teases, sidling up to Yixing’s side and poking him in the ribs.

 

Yixing laughs, lifting an arm to wrap it around Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, you got a point, there.” A kiss to Baekhyun’s forehead, then he says, “So, what’s the next step in the recipe?”

 

\-----

 

This apartment is somehow a little smaller than Baekhyun’s.  _ That’s  _ how small this apartment is.

 

Kyungsoo is lucky he’s a small person, otherwise it would be so claustrophobic here, sitting around between these four walls all the time.

 

But, despite the size, it’s well managed, clean, has great natural light, and is right dead smack in the center-city, a walk away from Kyungsoo’s shiny new job. Already, they’ve moved his bed in, and Kyungsoo and Baekhyun are slaving away trying to put the frame together, and Chanyeol’s been carrying in all the boxes of Kyungsoo’s clothes and books and movies and food. And as Yixing steps back from where he’s been busy putting books onto the shelf - in alphabetical order by author, as per Kyungsoo’s request - it genuinely is beginning to look like a perfect little home. Tiny, even.

 

There’s a huff, as Chanyeol places a stack of boxes on the floor by the door. He straightens up, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck and unzipping his jacket.

 

“That’s the last of it,” Chanyeol says, his cheeks vibrant pink from the exertion and the cold of being between inside and outside all afternoon.

 

“You’re the best, Yeollie,” Kyungsoo says, glancing over his shoulder from where he’s seated on the floor, attempting to decipher the IKEA instructions in his lap. “Wanna take over this while I start putting stuff in the fridge and pantry? You’ve always been better with your hands.”

 

Yixing notices when Chanyeol’s jaw clenches just the smallest amount, before he puts on a small smile and nods. “Yeah, for sure. Baek looks like he’s struggling, too.”

 

“Am not!”

 

Kyungsoo sends Baekhyun a glare. “You definitely are.”

 

“Okay, fine, yes I am.”

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Come help me organize the kitchen, then we can figure out something to eat.”

 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

At that, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo both unfold themselves from their seats on the floor, and make their way over to the kitchen, which is separated from the living/bedroom area by complete walls, save for the one opening to get in and out. That’s probably why it feels so small in here, having a bachelor’s apartment without an open concept can get a little suffocating.

 

They all get back to work, Yixing nearly finishing the bookshelf and Chanyeol starting to put the bed frame together, not even glancing at the instructions. He can hear Baekhyun and Kyungsoo chatting with each other in the kitchen as they organize his cupboards and fridge, but he isn’t paying them any mind. Rather, he can’t stop looking at the way Chanyeol hunches over his work, sunken shoulders and rounded spine. It makes Yixing sad, to see his friend like this. But, there’s only so much he could do.

 

He finishes the bookshelf, stepping back to see his work. Then, he glances around the apartment, trying to find what he could tackle next. He thinks he’ll set up the TV, plug it into the wall and all that. He hears something sizzling in the kitchen, and thinks the two of them must have finished their work in there and are now working on dinner. There’s no clock in here, yet, but judging by the darkness from outside the window, it seems like it’s going to be a late dinner.

 

“Yixing, can you help me out here, for a sec?” Chanyeol asks. Yixing nods, shuffling over to where Chanyeol’s holding a long, metal piece. “Can you hold this up while I bolt it down?”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

He takes the piece from Chanyeol, holds it steady in place as Chanyeol gets to work screwing all the nuts and bolts into place. Yixing just watches him a moment, watches his focussed brow and his pursed lips. The kitchen is still awfully noisy, so Yixing takes a chance at talking to his friend.

 

“How you holding up?” 

 

Chanyeol’s shoulders tense, just the subtlest amount. If Yixing hadn’t known him as well as he does, for as long as he has, he wouldn’t have been able to notice it.

 

“I’m okay,” Chanyeol says.

 

Yixing doesn’t think that’s necessarily the truth, but he decides not to push it. “Do you think you’re one hundred percent settled on… you know. Keeping it to yourself?”

 

It takes Chanyeol a moment, but, eventually, he shrugs. “It would only cause harm, I think.”

 

“Long distance is a thing.”

 

Chanyeol just shakes his head. 

 

There’s another long moment, where neither of them say anything at all. Chanyeol silently takes the piece from Yixing and hands him another one to hold in place. Kyungsoo must have said something particularly hilarious in the kitchen, because Baekhyun’s earth-shaking laughter can probably be heard through the entire building.

 

Yixing, eventually, says, “Even just for the sake of letting it out, you know? Getting it off your chest.” Because Yixing has always been a fan of honesty.

 

Chanyeol, just barely, shakes his head. “It isn’t about me. It’s about how it would affect Kyungsoo.”

 

The two of them glance over at the kitchen. Yixing can see the shadows of Kyungsoo and Baekhyun dancing about the kitchen as they work on whatever it is they’re making. Chanyeol sighs as he turns back to what he was doing, but Yixing still watches the yellow light spilling out from the rectangular opening that leads to the kitchen. It’s likely not very late in the evening, but thanks to the oncoming winter, it’s dark as midnight out, and the lighting where he and Chanyeol are working is less than desired. The light coming in from the kitchen is a jarring contrast.

 

Yixing stares at the patch of light and thinks. He thinks about what Chanyeol says, and he thinks he understands. It isn’t about Chanyeol getting this secret off his chest.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t want Kyungsoo to know that he broke his heart.

 

“All done,” Chanyeol says, standing up and rubbing his hands together. “Now, we just have to put the box and mattress on. Come on.”

 

Together, they plop Kyungsoo’s bed into place. It makes an awfully loud sound. He hopes Kyungsoo’s neighbours won’t be too upset with the noise.

 

He stretches his arms above his head, decides that he needs a smoke. “I’m gonna step out for a bit,” Yixing says. Chanyeol just nods his acknowledgement before plopping himself down atop the mattress, testing it out.

 

Yixing peeks his head into the kitchen. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he says. “You coming, Baek?”

 

Baekhyun waves a dismissive hand at Yixing. “Nah, I’m good, babe. Too busy, here.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Yixing says, banging his palm against the wall twice to announce his departure. 

 

“Don’t be long,” Kyungsoo says. “Dinner’s almost done.”   
  


After a quick trip down the elevator and out the main entrance, Yixing is stepping out into the cool air, on the cool pavement, a cool, dark sky above him. He shivers a little as he finds a spot next to the main doors, leaning up against the wall as he digs his pack out of his pocket and lights a cigarette.

 

As he smokes, his thoughts get loud. Thoughts of his friends, and the street they grew up on. He thinks about their weekly visits at the cafe, thinks about Seulgi, who knows their names and their orders. Thinks about  _ everywhere  _ in their town they could possibly go, where everyone knows the three of them, and always expects to see them together.

 

It breaks his heart, a little, to know that Kyungsoo has been searching for something better than all of it. And he’s found it.

 

He feels for Chanyeol. But, he feels for himself. He, too, is losing someone that he cares about so deeply and so wholly. Someone who he expects to see multiple times a week, at least. Someone who knows everything going on in his life, and he knows everything going on in his, in return.

 

It’s sad. It’s really, really, sad. And as Yixing looks down at the burning orange end of his cigarette, he thinks about his life with a little less Kyungsoo. A little less familiar. And it fills his chest and the backs of his eyes with an overflowing bout of despair. 

 

But, he swallows his tears, because his cigarette is almost done and it’s far too cold to stay out here longer than he needs to be.

 

\-----

 

The door jingles as it opens, and a head of overgrown, blond hair walks into the store. He’s bundled up to his nose with a scarf and a warm jacket, the weather seemingly  _ far  _ too cold for it being barely November. But his cheeks are rosy and his eyes are glassy from the wind and Yixing can’t stop the smile from splitting his face in two.

 

“You look so cute,” Yixing says, in lieu of a greeting.

 

“I’m  _ cold,”  _ Baekhyun replies.

 

Yixing laughs a little as he pulls Baekhyun in behind the counter, unwrapping the scarf from around his face so he can plant a kiss to his lips. “Thanks for stopping by. You could have just gone straight to my place, later.”

 

Baekhyun’s bottom lip juts out. “I wanted to spend more time with you.”

 

Yixing smiles, his cheeks heating up with the happiness and the bashfulness that consumes him whenever Baekhyun says something particularly sweet. He reaches up to ruffle Baekhyun’s hair before stepping away, entirely.

 

“It won’t be too long. Just a few little closing tasks to be done.”

 

“Mkay,” Baekhyun says, stepping past the counter, content to just wander about the shop while Yixing finishes up his work.

 

Yixing gets back to organizing his notes on his students from the day, a little too aware of the figure slowing floating about the store in the corners of his vision. It’s odd. It will always be odd. Baekhyun being back here, as an entirely different human, with an entirely different presence in Yixing’s life.

 

He glances up, too distracted to really focus on what he’s doing, anyway. He sees Baekhyun, standing in front of the piano, just… staring. Like he had that day that he closed the shop doors behind him and disappeared for years. He isn’t doing anything, he’s just staring at the piano, like something’s going to happen if he stares long enough.

 

Yixing swallows, prepares to speak. Nothing makes it past his throat. Baekhyun is probably far too distant to hear him, anyway.

 

With a shake of his head, Yixing decides to get back to his work. The sooner he finishes up, the sooner he can go back home and he and Baekhyun can fix up something simple to eat and then spend the evening with their legs tangled as they both try to fit on the couch. He scribbles things down on his papers, reorganizes a few notes by date, but all the while, can’t stop focusing on Baekhyun standing in front of the piano.

 

“Do you want to play?” he finally asks. “It’s just me and you, here.”

 

Baekhyun whips around, wide-eyed and terrified. “No, no, it’s okay.” He puts on that smile, that one that Yixing has come to recognize as his mask of choice. “You know I don’t play.”

 

Yixing doesn’t fall for that breezy smile of his, instead just staring back at him in all seriousness. “Why not, though? It’s just us, so what if you’re a little rusty.”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, right away. He’s turned back to the piano, his shoulders looking tense and stiff. Yixing bites his tongue, afraid he’s said something he shouldn’t have, especially when Baekhyun turns back to face him, that carefully constructed smile on his lips. But an undeniable flood of fear in his eyes. He even looks like he’s tearing up.

 

Baekhyun, wobbly, shakily, says, “No, it’s okay,” as just a release of breath. As though he doesn’t even trust his own voice.

 

Yixing nods, looks back down at his notes, now fully aware that he’s upset Baekhyun in some way. He doesn’t understand why Baekhyun is so completely  _ terrified  _ of sitting on that piano bench again, but he definitely doesn’t want to pester Baekhyun for answers. That’ll only upset him, more.

 

Instead, he says, “A few years ago I was teaching this, like, fourteen-year-old girl the piano. Actually, I’d been teaching Yerim since she was about ten.” He looks up. Baekhyun has gone back to just wandering around the rest of the store, reading labels on all the instruments. “She was so sweet. Funny, too. I taught her how to play the piano until she was better at it than I was.”

 

The small smile on Baekhyun’s mouth is a hundred times more genuine than the one that was there earlier. Yixing feels the tension release from his joints. Mission accomplished.

 

Then, Baekhyun says, “What is she up to, now?”

 

“I don’t know,” Yixing shrugs. “She had moved to the city, where her dad is, so she could go to some nice, private school. Haven’t heard from her since.”

 

“I wonder if she’s still playing.”

 

Yixing nods, closing up his notebook. “I hope so. Shall we head out?”

 

They bundle up, again, preparing for the cold. Baekhyun’s mood has elevated, a bit, though he’s still quiet, timid, afraid of his own voice, a little. Yixing gives Baekhyun a kiss on the tip of his nose before covering it with a scarf, and Baekhyun flushes pink and giggles into the wool. 

 

Yixing flicks the lights off, fumbles to lock the door with cold, shivering fingers, before immediately pulling Baekhyun into his side, looping their arms together, and shoving his hand in his pocket to keep his knuckles warm. He can see his breath in puffs of white in front of his face, and when he and Baekhyun turn to look at each other, the fog blends into one.

 

“Let’s make this walk quick.”

 

Together, they scurry along the sidewalk, Yixing still squeezing Baekhyun’s arm close to him, feeling as though he needs to be especially sweet with Baekhyun, tonight, after he crossed some boundaries. When he glances to his left, he sees that Baekhyun’s eyes are scrunched up in a smile, his mouth covered by the scarf wrapped over half his face. Yixing positively melts.

 

Halfway up the road, Yixing spots a familiar figure stepping out of their shop doors, clearly struggling with something. He tugs on Baekhyun and steers them in that direction, and Yixing’s smile grows when he sees Ms. Kim outside her shop, struggling with her garbage in the brutal cold.

 

“Ajumma,” Yixing says.

 

She spins around, startled, but her expression softens when she sees Yixing. “Oh, my darling, how are you tonight?”

 

“Chilly,” Yixing responds, unhooking his arm from Baekhyun’s and reaching for the bags of garbage. “Allow me.”

 

“Thank you, dear.” 

 

Yixing and Ms. Kim head for the bin, and Baekhyun follows along.

 

“Baekhyun, have you met Ms. Kim before?” Yixing asks.

 

Baekhyun uses a hand to pull the scarf down to reveal his mouth. He smiles as he says, “No, I have not, but I do know you have the best damn tomatoes in town.”

 

Ms. Kim laughs at that, reaching up to pat Baekhyun’s cheek. “Charming boy.”

 

“So, what’s new with you, ajumma?” Yixing asks, tossing the last bag into the bin. He turns around to see her smile grow even wider.

 

“My granddaughter is coming to stay with me, in a few weeks! I miss her, dearly,” she says.

 

“Oh, that’s so great, how long is she staying for?”

 

With eyes that light up like stars, she says, “Well, she’s taking a year off now that she’s graduated high school, so… as long as she wishes.”

 

“Awesome. I’m so glad,” Yixing says, and Baekhyun nods along.

 

Soon, they’re announcing their departures and heading separate ways, and Baekhyun latches himself to Yixing’s arm, again. With the extra time they’ve spent outside, chatting with Ms. Kim, they’re shivering down to their bones, and have both silently agreed to practically jog all the way back to Yixing’s place. He’s never seen either of them walk so fast.

 

Finally, Yixing is wiggling the key in his lock and pushing the door open, and they’re both rushing into the warmth and comfort of his apartment. As they shed their jackets and scarves and kick off their boots, Yixing can only notice the way Baekhyun’s eyes can’t stop flicking over to the little electric keyboard set up in the corner of his living room. Like they’re completely fixated, and can’t glance away for longer than a few seconds.

 

Baekhyun plops himself down on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Yixing walks over to the closet, in search of blankets, his lips pursed as he ponders asking the question on the tip of his tongue.

 

He decides it’s worth it. So, he says, “Baekhyun.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Is there… a reason you don’t play anymore?” He glances over his shoulder to see Baekhyun sitting up in his seat, already looking a tad defensive. “You’ve never explained- like, I mean. How come?”

 

He has an armful of blankets, now, coming back to stand in front of Baekhyun, where he sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees. He looks contemplative, staring at - rather,  _ through  _ \- Yixing’s chest as he thinks. Yixing sighs, giving him time, and wraps one of the throw blankets around Baekhyun’s shoulders.

 

Yixing takes a seat on the coffee table, right across from Baekhyun. Their knees bump. Baekhyun doesn’t react.

 

Instead, he just says, “You know how I am with, you know… doing everything I can to pretend my past never happened.”

 

Yixing nods. 

 

“I played the most when I was at my lowest. It was- I don’t know, some coping mechanism…” he trails off, his eyes wandering over Yixing’s shoulder to the bookshelf against the far wall. His gaze flicks over to the keyboard, for the briefest moment, before returning to where they were. “I tried playing, after a couple years of treatment and stuff, and- it just reminded me too much of how things used to be.”

 

With nothing to say, for a long moment, Yixing just stares at Baekhyun, a frown on his face as he absorbs everything Baekhyun has shared. The lines in Baekhyun’s face, tense, broken, like the way he carries his shoulders and wraps the blanket tighter around himself. He looks so exceedingly small, like this.

 

“Have you tried to play since then?”

 

It takes a second, but, slowly, Baekhyun shakes his head. His eyes have drifted to the carpet beneath their feet, and have not lifted.

 

“I think… and you can ignore me, because you know yourself better than me, obviously,” Yixing says.

 

Baekhyun’s lips quirk into a half smile. “That’s debatable, at this point.”

 

Yixing smiles, continues, “But, I think… I think your fear of what’s behind you has crippled you from enjoying a lot of things. Some of it’s out of your control, sure, but you shy away from the bad memories before you can make it through to the good parts.”

 

Baekhyun looks up at him, then, brows stitched together, almost appalled. “There are no good parts.”

 

“I don’t believe that,” Yixing says with a shake of his head. “All the times Jongdae was there for you, made you feel better. You made such  _ beautiful  _ music. Music I kept thinking about for  _ years,  _ Baekhyun,  _ years,  _ after you stopped coming in to play.”

 

Abruptly, Baekhyun stands up from his seat, the blanket still around his shoulders like a shield from the cold, and the rest of the world. He walks right past Yixing, to the bookshelf.

 

Yixing continues, “Constantly trying to run away from the past has made you forget a lot of the things that you love. The things you love about yourself, even.”

 

Baekhyun lifts a hand, takes his vase off the bookshelf. He holds it in gentle palms, studies it for a long second.

 

Still, he says nothing, so Yixing says, “You’re a beautiful piano player. You know and understand your boundaries. You’re kind and treat people the way you  _ know  _ someone should always be treated. Good things came out of the life you’ve lived, Baekhyun.”

 

“Why is this still here?” Baekhyun murmurs, running a finger along the gold paint, weaving in pretty patterns across the vase. “I should take this home.”

 

“Are you listening to me?”

 

Baekhyun puts the vase back on the shelf, hangs his head between his shoulders with a long sigh. The back of him, with his heavy shoulders and his hanging head, looks startlingly like that boy who sat at the piano bench in Yixing’s store all those years ago.

 

And Yixing understands. He gets why he’s so afraid. Only Baekhyun really understands the damage that the trauma made to his mind and his heart, all of the cracks in his ribs and his disposition that he’s been slowly patching together with gold paint. But, he just needs Baekhyun to know that he doesn’t need to keep hiding from the past, if it will only continue to exhaust him.

 

With a heavy sigh, Baekhyun, finally, says, “Yeah.”

 

He doesn’t elaborate any further.

 

Yixing just nods, before standing up. “I’ll go fix us some tea.”

 

In the kitchen, he busies his hands, tries to focus on his movements, instead of letting himself get carried away. His concern for Baekhyun can become suffocating at times. As he counts his steps, it keeps his mind occupied, and he narrates to himself, in his mind, two teaspoons of tea leaves, two cups of boiling water.

 

From the living room, though, he hears the hesitant ring of a C major.

 

He whips his head around, his heart racing at least triple what’s considered healthy. It’s so dimly lit in his apartment, the only light source being the kitchen light above him. It pours into the living room, just barely reaching the backs of Baekhyun’s shoulders, where he sits at the stool in front of the keyboard, using timid fingers to press a few chords into the keys.

 

It takes some internal debate, but Yixing stays put, deciding it best not to make a big deal of it. Inwardly, he’s ecstatic, overflowing with joy for Baekhyun for taking this step, and dumbfounded to think that he can finally hear his music again. After all these years.

 

As he fixes the tea, Baekhyun continues to play. He isn’t using sheet music, and seems to just be playing whatever his fingers produce, as he always has. And while his knuckles are clearly a bit unpracticed and rusty, hitting notes a beat too early or too late, a little flat or sharp, here and there… it’s still brimming with the submersive levels of unbridled emotion that’s signature to Baekhyun’s playing.

 

Yixing grabs a mug in each hand, and decides to head to the living room.

 

Gently, he places a mug on the windowsill right by the keyboard for Baekhyun to have, later, and takes a sip of his own. He watches Baekhyun’s delicate, beautiful hands create delicate, beautiful music. It’s dripping in hesitance and ambivalence. It’s somber yet it’s vaguely celebratory. And despite the missed notes and shaky tempo, it might be the most beautiful thing Yixing has ever heard.

 

Carefully, Yixing drags his eyes away from Baekhyun’s hands, past his wrists and to the boy, himself. The light, from behind him, casts a backlit shadow that almost completely disguises his face, but, still, Yixing can see the tears pooling in his bottom lashes.

 

Still, his concentrated pout is so cute, it’s almost enough to distract him, entirely.

 

When a tear finally falls, a drop that trails down Baekhyun’s cheek, Yixing doesn’t hesitate to reach out and wipe it away with the back of his knuckles. He allows his hand to linger a moment, on the soft, warm flesh of Baekhyun’s soft, warm cheek. It makes Baekhyun release a shaky, damp laugh.

 

“They’re not sad tears,” he says.

 

Yixing nods. “I can tell.”

 

There’s no telling the cacophony of emotions currently swimming through Baekhyun’s belly and his nerves. What Yixing does know, is that he, himself, is overflowing with pride, joy, adoration for Baekhyun. He is so unbelievably, indescribably happy for him.

 

Before him, sitting in this poorly lit room, wrapped in an old, worn blanket, sits the boy who played - no, the boy who  _ plays  _ \- the piano.

 

\-----

 

Mornings in November feel very strange. It’s that time of year where the sun is becoming less and less present throughout the day, and waking up any time before 8am means waking up to almost complete darkness outside. It’s a bit jarring, knowing it’s time to get up, when it looks as though it’s time for bed.

 

Luckily, on this particular morning, it’s a Sunday, and neither he nor Baekhyun have anywhere they need to be for some time. So Yixing points his toes to stretch his legs and releases the most satisfied groan, rolling himself over so he plops half on top of where Baekhyun’s laying on his stomach.

 

“Mmmph,” Baekhyun grunts, squirming a little as his body adjusts to being awake. “Baaabe.”

 

Yixing chuckles, sliding off of Baekhyun so he’s lying right up against his side, his shoulder and arm still just on top of Baekhyun’s. Baekhyun just continues to lay there, on his belly, his cheek pressed into the pillow and his eyes shut as he tries to sleep a little longer. Yixing watches him, runs gentle fingertips up and down Baekhyun’s spine, and counts the seconds between the breaths that rise and fall in Baekhyun’s ribs.

 

Yixing thinks, truly, wholly, that he is  _ entirely _ in love with this sleeping lump in his bed. He and his loud laughter, and his soft edges, and the goodness of his mending heart. It’s inescapable. It’s indisputable. He is in so deep, he may as well just drown.

 

He isn’t sure if he’ll say something. Not right away. Perhaps when the moment is right, he’ll tell him. And while usually, Yixing would never hesitate to share his thoughts with Baekhyun, this one little secret… he’ll keep to himself. Just a little while longer.

 

But just because he won’t say it, doesn’t mean he can’t show it. So, he leans in, kisses Baekhyun on his agape, sleep-puffy lips. The tip of his nose. His cheek. Baekhyun’s face scrunches up, and he releases a little giggle as Yixing closes in on his lips again.

 

“Mmm,” Baekhyun hums, allowing Yixing to deepen the kiss, with a palm flat against the small of Baekhyun’s back. “You’re being awfully sappy this morning.”

 

Yixing’s heart feels like it’s being twisted and squeezed in six different pairs of hands. He kisses Baekhyun some more. It’s hard to find the right words to say, when all that’s on his mind is  _ I love you, I love you, I love you. _

 

He manages to say, “I’m allowed to be.”

 

And Baekhyun smiles, rolling onto his side so they can press together chest-to-chest, and says, “You’re not just  _ allowed,  _ you’re more than welcome.”

 

Another all-consuming kiss, filling Yixing from his toes to his head with hot air, feeling as if he’s going to float away. They both smell like stale mouths and morning breath, but neither of them care all that much when  _ kissing  _ is just so nice. Baekhyun’s skin is warm, velvety, like the pleasant little hums that escape from his chest.

 

Fingers dance along the ridges of Yixing’s ribs, dig into the dip of his waist. He’s on  _ fire,  _ he’s so overwhelmed with desire and longing, and it’s crazy to him that he’s genuinely  _ longing  _ for something he has only mere inches away from him.

 

His hand, pressed firmly between Baekhyun’s shoulder blades in order to keep him as close as possible, begins to drift down Baekhyun’s back.

 

“Level?” Yixing whispers between kisses.

 

Baekhyun hums thoughtfully into the next round of kisses, licks the seam of Yixing’s lips one last time before pulling back to say, “I’m fine. I’m good.”

 

“You sure?” Yixing asks, because Baekhyun’s been saying that more and more frequently, as of late, and Yixing doesn’t want him to just be saying he’s fine because he feels like he has to.

 

Minutely, Baekhyun nods. “Yeah,” he says, diving in for another kiss. Their lips smack as they separate. “Yeah, I mean it.”

 

Yixing won’t argue, so he just hums his acknowledgement, diving in for more fervent, open kisses, dragging a reverent hand down Baekhyun’s spine to the swell of his ass, offended by the cotton separating his hand from hot skin. Baekhyun moans as Yixing licks into his mouth, and hikes his leg up to hook his thigh over Yixing’s hip, only bringing them that much closer.

 

“God, Baekhyun,” Yixing whispers between kisses, completely breathless. “God, I-”

 

He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, at this point. He’s completely delirious with the sheer abundance of  _ emotion  _ he feels for this figure of warmth and comfort in his arms. He craves him, he adores him, he admires him. He kisses him a little harder. He hopes it says everything he’s trying to tell him.

 

Baekhyun is so,  _ so  _ important to him. And he will treat him accordingly.

 

It’s stiflingly hot beneath the covers, as they wind tighter around each other. Baekhyun rocks his hips, overcome by their kissing and their aching, and it sends sparks through every nerve in Yixing’s body, raises a groan from his chest and causes his fingers to curl into the soft flesh of Baekhyun’s ass, drag his firm grip down to the thigh hooked over his hip, back up again.

 

“Yixing,” Baekhyun breathes into his mouth, licks the back of his teeth, pulls back again. “Yixing, I need- I want-”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says, nodding as earnestly as he can with Baekhyun’s face so close to his. His fingers dip into the fabric of Baekhyun’s underwear and begins to push them down. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

 

They separate, long enough to strip themselves of their underwear and toss them unceremoniously onto the ground, somewhere in the room, before returning back to exactly the way they were, as attached skin-to-skin as they could possibly get. Yixing much prefers it like this, when all he feels is Baekhyun’s hot skin and the sheets they’ve tossed over themselves to protect them from the brittle cold that dominates late autumn mornings. He takes full advantage of it, crawling the palm of his hand up Baekhyun’s thigh, over his ass, up his back, and down again. Absorbs as much of him as he can.

 

Baekhyun presses a hand to Yixing’s chest, his arm bent between them. He hums into their kisses, dragging his hand down Yixing’s sternum, his stomach, to wrap his fist around Yixing’s dick.

 

“ _ Christ,”  _ Yixing hisses, “Baekhyun, baby.”

 

Baekhyun only hums in response, the corners of his lips pulling up around his kisses. Yixing can’t help but smile back. He fucking  _ loves  _ this cheeky little shit.

 

He pulls back from Baekhyun just enough to twist his torso over and reach for the bedside drawer, and he hates every second of it. Baekhyun’s hand is still barely pumping Yixing’s cock, just slowly urging him to full hardness. It’s making his head positively spin. 

 

Yixing returns to Baekhyun’s space, and struggles to coat his fingers with lube, considering how closely they’re pressed together. He manages, thankfully, and reaches between them, underneath the leg hooked over Yixing’s torso, and teases the tip of his finger around Baekhyun’s hole.

 

Baekhyun releases the tiniest,  _ “Ah,”  _ at Yixing’s touch, his body seizing up for the briefest of moments before he completely melts into Yixing’s hold, Yixing’s kiss.

 

They share the wholest of kisses, small murmurs and shallow breaths, as Yixing prepares Baekhyun with gentle fingers. Baekhyun shivers with the shocks of pleasure that soar through him, rocks his hips, releases his grip on Yixing’s length because his focus has faltered, bleeding out into overflowing pleasure, instead.

 

Yixing just watches Baekhyun, as it soon becomes difficult for Baekhyun to kiss around his moans. He watches his eyebrows scrunch together, his teeth dig white marks into his lips, his shoulders shake with shattered breaths. Beyond Baekhyun’s shoulder, through the window, it seems the sun is finally making its appearance, filling the sky with an almost pink-ish shade of silver. Baekhyun’s skin looks so irresistibly soft in this light.

 

“Xing,” Baekhyun breathes, writhing against Yixing’s touch. “Xing-jah.”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing murmurs in return, “yeah, baby.”

 

The second he pulls his fingers out, Baekhyun is shoving at his shoulders until he falls onto his back with a  _ humph.  _ He laughs, a little startled, as Baekhyun reaches across him to grab a condom, ripping the packet open and rolling it onto Yixing’s dick. 

 

“Just lay back,” Baekhyun says. And Yixing isn’t about to argue.

 

When Baekhyun finally sinks down, straddling Yixing’s hips, the sheets pooled around his waist, the two of them groan together, the sound bouncing off the walls and filling the air with something besides the  _ cold.  _ Yixing reaches up, wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s back and holds him tight to his chest, allowing their lips to meet once more in the most earth-shattering kiss he could possibly muster up.

 

And together, they work. They remained tangled as close as possible, Yixing’s knees bent into the air to meet Baekhyun’s rhythm as they rock together, hot skin sticking between them. Baekhyun’s face has burrowed into the juncture of Yixing’s neck and shoulder, where he mouths and nips between the moans he can’t contain.

 

It’s so,  _ so  _ hot with the sheets still mostly covering them, but Yixing far prefers this to the cold that awaits him beyond their little bubble. Beyond where Baekhyun has completely engulfed him, with arms and legs that bracket him, his tight heat around his cock, the way his sighs and his murmurs coat over Yixing’s skin like the most luxurious silks and velvets.

 

They remain like this. Just, one, complete form beneath the sheets, working in tandem, separated at no point. They remain like this until they’re both beginning to get desperate, delirious, with the astounding pleasure that continues to build within and between them. Until they can’t take it anymore, and Baekhyun pushes up onto his hands to find that perfect angle, Yixing pressing his feet firmly into the mattress to meet Baekhyun’s increasingly enthusiastic thrusts. 

 

The room is no longer filled with the cold, but instead the sounds of skin against skin and desperate gasps for air. Filled with the echo of Baekhyun’s whimpers and cries, the rumbling of the groans that resonate deep in Yixing’s chest.

 

Yixing is so close, he’s dizzy with it, and he reaches between them to take Baekhyun’s cock in his fist and meet the rhythm of their frantic race to the finish. Does his best to store the sound Baekhyun makes into his memory to keep forever.

 

“Ah-  _ ah,  _ Yixing,” Baekhyun is panting between red, wet lips.

 

“Yeah, I’m-”

 

And before he can finish his sentence, he’s arching into the mattress and groaning as if the life has been punched out of him, using his fist to drag Baekhyun along with him. They shudder, they shake, and Baekhyun collapses back on top of Yixing, just to pant heavy breaths into his neck.

 

“God, baby,” Baekhyun breathes out, his heart racing so fast Yixing can feel it against his own chest, in his palm that’s pressed flat against Baekhyun’s back. “Just-  _ god.” _

 

And Yixing can’t help but laugh. “Same.”

 

Baekhyun giggles into Yixing’s skin, his ribs shaking against Yixing’s. It makes Yixing smile, his heart warm and about three times its size in his chest. It’s overwhelming, the adoration he feels for the boy currently crushing him into the mattress.

 

He can’t wait to go tell his  _ yehyeh  _ that he’s fallen in love.

 

Suddenly, Baekhyun pushes himself up onto his elbows and beams down at Yixing. He’s glowing, with the sweat on his skin, his bangs matted to his forehead, his cheeks rosy with the remnants of exertion. He’s beautiful, Yixing thinks. And he loves him.

 

“Well, that was a perfect way to start the day, if I do say so myself,” Baekhyun says through his smile. Yixing just giggles, completely fond.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Yixing teases, poking his fingers into Baekhyun’s ribs just to make him squirm above him. “Come on, baby, let’s go shower.”

 

“ _ Oooorrrr, _ we can just lay here forever,” Baekhyun says, recovering from his laughter. He hugs Yixing tighter, the gross feeling of the sticky come between their stomachs making both of them cringe.

 

“As lovely as that sounds,” Yixing says, reaching down to pat Baekhyun’s butt, “we definitely need to shower if you’re gonna go to Jongdae’s later.”

 

With a pout, Baekhyun complies with a, “Yeah, alright.” And just as they’re both - finally - climbing out of bed, he chimes, “But only if I can blow you in the shower!” before scampering off, buck-ass nude, toward the bathroom.

 

Yixing can only laugh, shaking his head to himself, before following after Baekhyun and shouting something about how insatiable he is. As if he’s complaining at all.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun gives Yixing a kiss on the lips before he turns to climb out of the truck. He stands at the door, looking at Yixing for a moment, not quite ready to part ways. Behind him is Jongdae and Seungwan’s house, the shrubbery in their front garden bare with the oncoming winter.

 

“Tell them I’ll be by, later,” Yixing says.

 

Baekhyun nods. It’s starting to get cold in the truck, with the door open. “I’ll see you later, Xing. Have a nice afternoon with Chanyeol.”

 

Yixing smiles. “See you later, baby.”

 

Baekhyun smiles back, the tight-lipped smile that makes his cheeks to round and pink. He shuts the door, then, scurrying off up the driveway, in a rush to get out of the cold. Yixing loves him so very much.

 

He turns back to the road, and continues on. It doesn’t take long for him to get downtown, just a couple of minutes, and soon he’s parking on the curb, climbing out of his truck, and crossing the street to the entrance of the cafe.

 

Walking in to only see one person waiting for him at their usual table, instead of two, is a little odd. Very odd. Especially since he and Chanyeol haven’t met for their Sunday coffees in the couple of weeks that Kyungsoo has been gone. 

 

It wasn’t a deliberate choice. Yixing can’t help but think they both silently agreed that they needed time to mourn.

 

“Hey, Yeol,” Yixing says, shedding his jacket as he situates himself in the seat across from Chanyeol.

 

Chanyeol smiles up at him. “Hey, man.”

 

The second Yixing is comfortable in his seat, Seulgi is there, placing two steaming drinks on the table.

 

“Mocha with whip and an americano,” she says with a smile.

 

Yixing makes to push out of his chair. “Here, let me come up and pay-”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Chanyeol interrupts him with a hand reaching out across the table. “I got it.”

 

“Oh, thanks.”

 

Seulgi smiles one last time before turning on here heel with an, “Enjoy, boys!”

 

And, so, they do. They sip their coffee and discuss little things, like the weather, how they’re supposed to get snow next week. They talk about how the shop’s been doing, if either of them have been able to get any songwriting done, lately. Simple, painless conversation. Until a lull hits.

 

“So,” Yixing says, “have you talked to Kyungsoo, recently?”

 

Chanyeol nods, unable to fight the small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. He says he’s loving the new job, so far.” He takes a sip of his drink and ends up with whipped cream on his lip. “But, in typical Kyungsoo fashion, he says about half of his co-workers are complete idiots.”

 

Yixing laughs, shaking his head. “Honestly, that seems like a theme, in the city. Heechul’s been emailing me about once a week to complain about the incompetence of everyone who’s applied to work for him.”

 

“God,” Chanyeol says with a bemused smile and the shake of his head. “Is he still offering you a job every waking moment?”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing nods. He takes a sip of his coffee. Decides now is a good time to warn Chanyeol about the cream on his lip, and laughs at Chanyeol’s embarrassed expression. “He, uh… he actually keeps offering to make me an equal partner.”

 

Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “Oh. That’s…” he trails off, taps his ceramic mug with the tip of his finger. “That’s pretty big.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, amused by how immediately hurt his friend looks. “Don’t worry, Yeol, you know I love it here way too much to accept the offer.”

 

Chanyeol smiles, just looking down at his drink as the whipped cream fully melts into the coffee. “Yeah.”

 

“So, anyway,” Yixing says, leaning his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “I’m glad Kyungsoo’s doing well. I talked to him last week and he said he was too busy to think about how much he misses us.”

 

That makes Chanyeol smile a little wistfully, looking out the window at the street outside. Not a single person can be seen walking by. Yixing thinks of what it’s like in the city, where there is  _ always  _ someone, so many people, wherever you go.

 

“He seems really happy, there,” Chanyeol says.

 

Yixing nods. He watches his friend for a moment. The stiffness of his shoulders and the crease between his brows. He says, “And how have you been?”

 

“I’ve been fine,” Chanyeol replies, now turning to look right into Yixing’s eyes. He’s smiling in a way that reflects his words. He’s sad, but he’s accepted his reality. It makes Yixing’s heart ache in his chest. 

 

“Still no chance of you ever confessing?”

 

Chanyeol just shakes his head.

 

Yixing nods, because he gets it. He really does. It breaks his heart to watch it unfold, but he knows what Chanyeol is doing is what’s best for him. He’s sad for now, sure. But, this is his home. This is where Chanyeol has lived his entire life, and where he’ll live the rest of it. They say that home is where the heart is, and while Kyungsoo may have taken a piece of it to Seoul with him, Chanyeol’s heart is rooted here, amongst the gravel roads and the neighbours who know you by name.

 

After a long moment, Chanyeol says, “My feelings for Kyungsoo can fade. But, my home… it’ll always be here.”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says. “I get it. I really do.”

 

And even as Yixing agrees, his heart stiffens in his chest and his belly churns the smallest bit. It pains him, to see his friend need to justify the decisions he’s making, as though he needs to convince  _ himself.  _

 

It’s as though no matter how much Yixing agrees with the choices Chanyeol is making… something within him tells him he’s doing it all wrong.

 

He blames it on his hatred of keeping secrets.

 

“Hi, I’m just here to drop off a resume,” Yixing hears from somewhere beside him. Even Chanyeol is glancing past Yixing’s shoulder at the source of the voice, curious about someone here applying for work.

 

The only people applying for work are those who aren’t from around here.

 

Yixing turns around, sees a young woman standing at the counter, talking with Seulgi as Seulgi scribbles something down onto the girl’s resume. Her hair is cut to shoulder length, pin straight and jet black. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and Yixing can’t help but think she’s awfully pretty. But, then he recognizes her.

 

“Yerim?” he calls out, ecstatic to see a familiar face. Older, different, but still familiar.

 

She turns to him, a huge smile spreading across her face. “Yixing-oppa,” she says, “long time no see.”

 

“I’ll say,” Yixing gets up from his seat to walk over and give her a friendly hug. “The last time I saw you, you were…”

 

“Fourteen and much smaller,” Yerim laughs with a nod. “Funny how time works that way, huh?”

 

Yixing just shakes his head, a little dumbfounded. It’s crazy, to see her, fully grown and beautiful and mature. It makes him feel so old, to see her like this. A physical representation of how much time has passed. And how much time changes things.

 

“It didn’t even occur to me, when I was talking to your grandma last week,” Yixing says. His face is hurting from smiling. “I have to know. Do you still play the piano?”

 

She laughs, beams so bright she could almost put Baekhyun to shame. “I was only offered about ten scholarships from music programs who want me for the things you taught me,” she jokes, flips her hair over her shoulder for effect.

 

Yixing chuckles. “And you didn’t accept them?”

 

“I thought I’d take a year to myself,” Yerim shrugs. “Thought it would be nice to come home for a little bit. You know, before the rest of my life happens.”

 

Yixing just nods, smiles, keeps smiling. It makes him happy, to know that she’s still been playing, all this time, accomplishing so much. And it’s nice, to hear that with all of her potential for success, for all of the things she has yet to accomplish, she’ll never forget home.

 

\-----

 

Yixing uses the key from above the door frame to open the door to Baekhyun’s apartment, ecstatic to finally be somewhere warm after the walk over. He stomps his boots on the mat in the entrance, shakes the snow out of his hair. 

 

“God, you’d think it’s January out there, not the end of November,” Yixing complains, unravelling the scarf from around his neck. He unzips his coat. “I’m beginning to think this Climate Change thing is a bigger problem than they’re trying to tell us.”

 

Baekhyun hasn’t responded to him. Instead, he’s sitting on his bed, blankets wrapped around his shoulders, as he watches the snow fall from beyond his window. The back of his hair is sticking up, and it makes Yixing smile as he leans down to take his boots off.

 

He tosses his scarf and jacket onto the futon, not caring to hang them up properly. As he makes his way to the bed, his knees just about to hit the mattress, he notices that Baekhyun’s shoulders are shaking. Not with shivers. But with sobs.

 

“Babe?” he asks, voice gentle. Baekhyun sniffles, and Yixing’s worries are confirmed. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

 

He sits down on the bed, reaches a hand out to Baekhyun’s shoulder but he just violently shrugs it off before crumbling into hysterical sobs. Yixing’s stomach churns and he wrings his hands together, wishing he could reach out and console Baekhyun, but Baekhyun has already made it clear he doesn’t want to be touched. He can only count his breaths, wait for Baekhyun to open up to him.

 

It doesn’t take long, for Baekhyun to turn around to face Yixing, diving in to bury his face in his chest as his body continues to shake with his sobs. Yixing wraps his arms tight around him, feels a lump well up in his throat. He’s seen Baekhyun cry on numerous occasions. He’s never, ever seen him bawl so violently, so full of… fear.

 

“He’s-he…” he dissolves into another round of sobs too violent to speak. Yixing is beginning to panic. “On g-good... beha-haviour!”

 

It takes a moment for it to it to register in Yixing’s head, just what he means. He’s a little preoccupied by his concern for Baekhyun. But, once it clicks in, once he realizes what -  _ who  _ \- he’s talking about, he pushes Baekhyun away from him by the shoulders, bores his eyes into Baekhyun’s puffy, red face with eyes wide as saucers, feeling like he’s burst into flames.

 

“How do you know?” is all he’s capable of asking.

 

Baekhyun wipes his face with his palms. He’s still shivering, and tears are still falling, but he’s composed himself enough to speak. “Jongdae’s out of town, he- he ran into someone we knew from years ago and… they told him-”

 

“He’s being released?”

 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Baekhyun cries out, shattering into more sobs that leave him gasping for breath. Yixing runs his fingers through his hair, wipes the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m s-so fucking… I’m so fucking scared.”

 

“Shh,” Yixing hushes, pulling Baekhyun in to his chest, again. “I’m here, Baekhyun. He can’t get you.”

 

He feels Baekhyun shake his head. He sniffles. “It’s not just that, it’s- I feel…” he sighs, as though he’s frustrated his words aren’t coming to him. Yixing begins to gently rock them back and forth. “I feel like I’ve been flung back in time and I’m nineteen and in shackles again.”

 

Yixing hears the sound of his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. “I get it.”

 

“Just… all of my fears and insecurities that I’ve tried- I’ve tried  _ so hard  _ to push away-”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Another sniffle, a small whimper. Baekhyun melts into Yixing’s hold, body exhausted from crying for… Yixing doesn’t know how long he was crying before he arrived. But, then, Baekhyun pushes away, gets up from the bed to begin pacing the floor, back and forth.

 

“After I hung up the phone, after Jongdae told me, I- it all just hit me like a flood,” he says, voice verging on frantic, hysterical. “I’m terrified, again, I take up too much space, I’m too loud, I’m suddenly, all over again, everything he told me was  _ wrong with me!” _

 

He crumples, folds in on himself, collapses to the floor in another bout of wailing. Yixing flies off of the bed, down onto his knees, scooping Baekhyun up in his arms. He holds him there, rocks him back and forth, waits for him to calm down, again.

 

Baekhyun sniffles into Yixing’s sweater, murmurs with a shaky, broken voice, “Just when I was starting to like myself, again.”

 

“Baekhyun,” Yixing whispers out as his heart shatters into irreparable pieces. He can’t help it, he can’t help but let a few tears of his own fall, knowing that the person he cares for, the person he loves so,  _ so  _ much feels so much hatred for himself. It kills him. It breaks his heart.

 

He knows, with his entire being, that Baekhyun deserves to only ever feel  _ love.  _

 

“Baekhyun, I’m so sorry,” he says, voice so low it’s practically a whisper. “I am so sorry you feel that way, you… you don’t deserve to feel such a thing about yourself, you-”

 

“Yixing, don’t give me any of that sappy  _ you’re so beautiful  _ bullshit, right now,” Baekhyun mutters into the fabric of Yixing’s sweater. 

 

Yixing frowns. “It’s not bullshit, though,” he says, pulling at Baekhyun’s shoulders in order to look him in the eye. The eyes he meets are red-rimmed and bloodshot, eyelashes damp and sticking together. “Do you think I don’t mean it?”

 

Baekhyun breaks their eye contact, looking down into his lap where he’s wringing his hands together to ebb the anxious vibrating in his nerves. He shrugs. “You just speak so freely all the time. I wonder whether you put much thought into the words you say.”

 

“No, no, Baekhyun,” Yixing breathes, shaking his head and reaching out to cradle Baekhyun’s cheek in his palm. His skin is searing hot. “Baby, I say them because I feel them. I’ve not once said to you something that I didn’t fully believe, in my heart.”

 

Baekhyun snorts out a short, self-deprecating laugh. He sniffs, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “You sap.”

 

He feels it, bubbling within him. The need to share, to express, even if just to console Baekhyun when he’s feeling his most broken, his most vulnerable. Yixing has never, in his life, wanted to scoop someone up, blanket them in warmth, care, love, and respect, as much as he wants to do with Baekhyun.  _ Especially  _ at a time like this.

 

Yixing figures if there’s even the possibility of a better time than this, he hasn’t even a chance of holding it in any longer.

 

“Baekhyun, I’m in love with you,” he says, making Baekhyun whip his head up to look at him, clearly taken aback by the words. “I adore you, to unbelievable extents. So it kills me to see you think so poorly of yourself, while I sit here and think the fucking world of you.”

 

The skin of Baekhyun’s cheek grows even hotter. “I- you’ve got me all wrong.”

 

“I don’t,” Yixing says, voice firm. He lifts a second hand to hold Baekhyun’s other cheek, ensuring that he’s facing Yixing as he spills it all out, as he lets it all out into the air between them and hope that Baekhyun accepts it in both hands. “Baekhyun, you are so brave and so admirable. You’re charming but always genuine, you’re funny and you’re humble. Your presence fills a room, not in a bad way, like you describe it, you’re… you’re like a light. You’re a fucking… shooting star.”

 

“Xing-”

 

“You’re the entire meteor shower, for god’s sake. I know you’re sad and you’re broken, and I know you’re working on healing those wounds, and I will so gladly stand by you while you work on yourself. Because…” he trails off, his mind getting ahead of him before his words can catch up. He’s so overwhelmed, by everything gushing out of him at once, by Baekhyun’s introspective and whimsical expression, the universe of stars in his eyes all shimmering bright as they process the words that Yixing puts out. Yixing feels like he could positively burst.

 

He continues, “Because you’re doing so amazing. You’re doing so well and working so hard and getting so far, and you deserve to have someone there to hold your hand and tell you how great you’re doing. Because without that reassurance, I know you’ll doubt yourself. I know you, Baekhyun.

 

“And here’s me telling you not to doubt yourself. You are capable of overcoming every obstacle, I mean  _ look at you!  _ You and your ability to light up a room, to make the most beautiful music, to make everyone love you with every inch of their being, I… I truly cannot think of a person better fit for my full, complete admiration.”

 

There’s a moment, when all they can do is just stare at one another. Yixing feels as though he’s run out of words, and Baekhyun is clearly far too blown away to even  _ think  _ of something comprehensible. Instead, they sit there, Baekhyun’s face in his hands, watching each other as their minds catch up to everything that was just shared. To every word hanging in the air between them.

 

If Yixing looks closely enough, he thinks he can see Baekhyun reaching out and accepting the words in his hands, claiming them as his own.

 

“Yixi-” Baekhyun begins to say, but it cuts out into a pathetic croak. His voice is completely shot after so much crying.

 

Yixing frowns, rubbing his thumbs over the apples of Baekhyun’s cheeks. “Oh, your poor throat. Here, let me make you some tea and honey.”

 

He unfolds himself from his seat on the floor and heads to the kitchenette, leaving Baekhyun to sit there on the floor, hold all those words to his chest and take some time to think.

 

Yixing busies himself starting the kettle, digging into the cupboard for Baekhyun’s tea. He’s certain he saw a ginger tea in here, not long ago, if he could only find it…

 

He hears the sound of the door opening and slamming shut.

 

Curious, he steps out of the kitchen with a frown on his face. He looks over to the futon, the bed, and no one is there. He steps into the bathroom, thinking maybe that’s the door he heard. Again, no one. He frowns again, thinking there’s no way Baekhyun could have left.

 

Hesitantly, he climbs onto the bed, walks across it on his knees to look out the window at the road out front. And, there, amongst all the snow and the billowing wind, is a head of unruly yellow hair, being tossed around in the vicious wind, only in a hoodie and sweatpants, clearly not equipped to take on a snow storm.

 

In a panic, he pries the window open as quickly as possible, hanging his head out to yell, “Baekhyun, what the hell! Come inside, you’ll freeze to death!”

 

Baekhyun looks up at him, then. His cheeks are even rosier than before, his nose too, bitten with the cold wind that whips around him. Just barely, Yixing hears him mutter an, “I just need…” before sprinting off down the road before he can even finish his sentence.

 

Yixing’s heart lurches after him, but something tells him to just give him some time. If Yixing knows anything about Baekhyun, it’s that it takes an awful lot of effort to get anything contrary to his perception into that stubborn little head of his. He knows Baekhyun isn’t too irrational, and will come back before he loses a toe or two.

 

Or, so he tries to convince himself. He winds up pacing Baekhyun’s apartment in a panic, telling himself not to chase after him in order to give him space, but agonizing over the knowledge that Baekhyun is just  _ out there,  _ in this cold, not at all covered up. And emotional, nonetheless. Baekhyun, out there, running around in a snowstorm, on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

 

_ Yixing  _ feels like he’s on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

 

He wonders if he’s said too much. If he’s said the wrong thing. If he’s scared Baekhyun off with the sheer  _ abundance  _ of things that Yixing feels, if it just got far too overwhelming for Baekhyun to handle.

 

Perhaps he’s even read this all wrong, this thing between him and Baekhyun. Maybe Baekhyun doesn’t care for Yixing as much as Yixing has been led to believe. As much as Yixing savours lingering glances and bashful smiles and adventurous fingertips. Maybe he was just… mistaken.

 

A few minutes of utter torture pass before the door is being swung wide open, and there stands a soaking wet, shivering Baekhyun. He’s looking at Yixing with pleading, frenzied eyes, and Yixing can only rush to his side to scoop him up, immediately begin stripping him out of his freezing, sopping wet clothes.

 

They don’t say anything as they work together at getting Baekhyun changed into something dry and warm. No words are shared as Yixing grabs a towel to scrub Baekhyun’s hair with, a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Nothing is said as he leads Baekhyun to the bed, sits him down with as gentle of a grip he can manage. 

 

“I’ll make you that tea, now,” is the first thing said between them. Just a simple announcement by Yixing as he gets up to head back toward the kitchen.

 

An icy cold hand stops him, wrapped securely around his wrist.

 

“Did you really mean it?” Baekhyun asks, voice miniscule, yet profound against the silence that has fallen between them.

 

Yixing nods. “Every word.”

 

Baekhyun looks so small, wrapped up in his blanket with his shoulders hiked up to his ears. He continues to stare at some point beyond Yixing, his hand still wrapped tightly around Yixing’s wrist. 

 

Abruptly, Baekhyun stands, the blanket draped over his shoulders falling to pool at their feet, as Baekhyun lifts his hands to cup Yixing’s jaw and kiss him soundly on the mouth.

 

He’s still shivering, and Yixing just wraps his arms around him and holds him as tightly and wholly as possible. It absolutely blows his mind, to be able to hold such an infinite universe of a human in just the space his arms provide, to be able to hold so much life and love and wonder so close to his chest, he can feel two sets of heartbeats rattling his ribs.

 

They part, and Baekhyun is smiling at Yixing with the brightest spark in his gaze that Yixing has seen to date.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispers. Yixing feels the words tickle his lips with the air they produce. “I love you so much, you gentle, perfect man.”

 

Yixing doesn’t think he could possibly get any happier than he can right now. If he could lift off, soar into outer space, right now, he absolutely would.

 

“So, I have a proposition for you,” Baekhyun says.

 

“Okay.”

 

Baekhyun takes a second, just beaming at Yixing with his bottom lip between his teeth. He actually physically  _ glows.  _ Yixing squeezes him a little tighter.

 

“Run away with me.”

 

Yixing blinks, his arms around Baekhyun’s waist going a little slack. “What?”

 

“I mean, think about it!” Baekhyun says, face so ecstatic it’s nearly hysterical. He steps out of Yixing’s hold to pace about the apartment, as though moving as he speaks will further the point he’s trying to make. “What better way for us to do this right, than to just… get away from everything holding us back?”

 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

 

“Everything!” Baekhyun says, waving his arms out at his sides. Yixing is totally confused by how excited Baekhyun looks, how happy he is to be saying these words. These words that are Yixing’s absolute nightmare. “I can get away from  _ him,  _ I can get away from this life, in this town, that has treated me so fucking bad. We’re so good together, Yixing, we can make anything work. We loved being in the city together, let’s just-”

 

“No.”

 

Baekhyun stops moving, for once, his arms at his sides dropping along with his expression. “What?”

 

“No,” Yixing says, frowning. “No, I- why would I leave? Why would we leave? Because your ex-boyfriend is being released from prison?”

 

Baekhyun’s expression hardens, his shoulders raise with tension. “Need I remind you he almost killed me. Twice, if you include indirectly.”

 

Yixing shakes his head, feeling as though Baekhyun is missing the point. “No, I get that. I understand why you don’t want to see him, or be near him, or…” he trails off, runs a hand over his face as he tries to collect his thoughts. “Running away from your past resolves  _ nothing,  _ Baekhyun. Why do you insist so much on running?”

 

He looks over at Baekhyun, where he’s standing by his cluttered bookshelf where his pretty little vase stands out from the rest of his clutter, looking positively destroyed. It pains Yixing, to see him look so shattered, as though Yixing has just crushed his dreams. But, he was saying nonsense. Leaving this city isn’t going to solve any problems. If he has any issues he can face them, right here, at home.  _ Home. _

 

“I’m not running  _ from  _ anything,” Baekhyun finally says, eyes a tad glassy, as though he’ll break down again any moment. “I’m just trying to run  _ to  _ something different, something better-”

 

“Better!?” Yixing cuts him off, incredulous. “Why does everyone keep calling a world outside this city  _ better?” _

 

“Because it is!?” Baekhyun shouts back, arms swinging out at his sides in exasperation. “Really, Yixing, what does this boring little town have to offer either of us? Huh?! An entire lifetime of you standing behind the counter at that music store, and nothing more!”

 

_ “What more do I need!?” _

 

_ “WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?” _

 

_ Just you,  _ Yixing thinks. Instead, he just blinks, at a loss for an answer.

 

Baekhyun shakes his head. “You are so  _ stuck  _ in the past, it’s like the future doesn’t even exist,” he says. The words sting like needles in Yixing’s skin. “You fear change like the plague. You resent even your best friends for seeking something new and different and  _ better  _ in their life.”

 

“I don’t resent Kyungsoo.”

 

“Yeah, you fucking do. Don’t think I don’t see it, Yixing, the way you tense up and set up these walls whenever  _ anyone  _ talks about, I don’t know, fucking  _ growing!  _ People are allowed to grow and change and evolve, Yixing!”

 

Yixing huffs, staring at Baekhyun from across the room. They stand so far apart, as if on polar opposite ends. And even though, in the small space of Baekhyun’s apartment, it’s barely a few feet… Yixing feels as though they may as well be miles away from each other.

 

He clenches his fists at his side. “Why doesn’t anyone understand that you can grow without having to change your location? You can still grow as a person and stay in one place!”

 

“Yeah? How much have you grown, Yixing? Or have you been in the exact same place since I thanked you for letting me play, all those years ago?”

 

Yixing shoots daggers at Baekhyun across the room, before turning away just as quickly. He hates his tone. This accusatory, venomous tone that makes Yixing feel guilty just for being happy with his life. His gut is boiling, his skin burning, and he feels like he could scream at the frustration building within him. Why can’t Baekhyun just  _ understand?  _ Why can’t he just accept that life here is  _ good?  _

 

Why does everyone insist on reaching for  _ better? _

 

He looks up from where his eyes had been stuck on the floor, where they spent an entire night cutting up remnants of Baekhyun’s past, many months ago. He sees Baekhyun standing there, having grabbed his  _ kintsugi  _ vase from the bookshelf, gripping it with white knuckles and tense shoulders.

 

It appears that the frustration is brewing, building, in Baekhyun as well. Yixing doesn’t understand why they can’t just meet halfway on this. Why neither of them are capable of taking a step forward to diminish the distance.

 

“You can face your problems from anywhere, Baekhyun. Why bother running away?” he says, and his voice comes out more accusatory, more bitter than he had intended.

 

And, as if he flicked a switch, Baekhyun’s frustration overflows, and he practically begins to vibrate where he stands.

 

“WHAT’S THE POINT OF MAKING MYSELF BETTER IF I CAN’T GIVE MYSELF ROOM TO GROW!?” he shrieks. Yixing almost fears the vase is going to shatter in his grip, he’s squeezing it so tight. “JUST  _ QUIT  _ ANTAGONIZING EVERYONE, JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T SEE A PROBLEM IN THE MUNDANE!”

 

“There is no problem in the mu-”

 

There’s a shatter, as Baekhyun throws his vase against the wall, by the entrance. It takes Yixing aback, his jaw going slack, his heart racing. He sees Baekhyun fall apart, watches as he crumbles into more tears, his beautiful, very own vase, now smashed to bits, because Baekhyun couldn’t get a grip on his irritation, his emotions. 

 

Yixing feels bad, but mostly he’s just  _ sick  _ of this conversation. He’s sick of butting heads with Baekhyun over something that has no room for debate.

 

He isn’t leaving this city. He isn’t leaving home. No matter how much Baekhyun wants to run away from all his problems.

 

With a huff, he grabs his coat and scarf from the futon, and heads to the door to slip his boots on. He stares down at the broken pieces of ceramic on the floor, the red flowers and the gold lines. Rough and jagged edges that taunt Yixing with their beautiful type of dangerous. It’s sad, to see Baekhyun’s beloved vase, lying so pathetically, all his hard work smashed into pieces. 

 

He says, “I guess you’ll just have to make it beautiful, again.”

 

And then slams the door behind him.

  
  



	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, lads! the ending has arrived! about a year of writing, and she is complete. it's a little bittersweet tbh.  
> thank you to everyone who has read and shown their support thus far. like. BIG thank you.  
> another big thanks to jin for being such an enthusiastic and supportive beta and for genuinely loving this story enough to help me out with it, you're the bomb.  
> well. here is the ending. i hope you enjoy!

The snow doesn’t stick.

 

It only takes a couple of days for it to melt away, and for the winter to return to its bitter, gray self. Yixing finds waking up in the mornings especially cold, as of late.

 

Christmas is getting closer, lights go up and stores and restaurants and cafes begin playing Christmas music on loop. The store gets extremely busy, with gift buying and the general consensus to just go and  _ spend  _ more money, this time of year. It’s consistently full of customers, people from their town, people stopping in on their way through town, people visiting family in town.

 

So, Yixing busies himself with his work and his songwriting. He writes on his guitar and tries not to stare at the keyboard in the corner of his living room for too long. He spends a lot of time avoiding going to see his mother, hanging out with Chanyeol, declining Heechul’s offers over and over and over.

 

And he thinks about Baekhyun.

 

He tries not to. He just can’t help it. Yixing is incurably in love with him, and even after their fight, even after they’ve laid it all out on the table, now knowing for sure that their lives are on opposing paths, nothing is going to change that. His life and Baekhyun’s are in completely different directions, straying further and further away from each other as time goes on. And the only thing it creates is heartache.

 

He wonders, often, if Baekhyun is still going. If he  _ has  _ gone. He wonders if his ex has been released and if he’s out on the streets again, and he wonders if Baekhyun - provided he’s still around - has been holed up in his apartment, terrified to leave, door locked and deadbolted. It fills Yixing with this poisonous, harrowing bout of guilt, of grief. He wants, he  _ aches  _ to be there for him, but… he can’t.

 

They can’t remain together, if they still insist on taking their separate paths. Why bother dragging it out any further, only to make it more painful for them to separate once again?

 

What’s worse, is he sometimes wonders if he’s doing all of this right. If he’s making the right decision, or if he’s so blinded by his stubbornness he can’t be bothered to see that Baekhyun is right. He wonders if he is just  _ stuck.  _ Not happy, not content, just  _ stuck.  _ He wonders, an infectious, festering amount, if there  _ is  _ a problem in the mundane, if refusing to step outside the lines he’s drawn for himself will ultimately do him harm.

 

But then he thinks about his shop and his mother and the cat and the cafe, and old Ms. Kim scuffling out of her shop late at night. He thinks about his grandparents’ grave, and the tree etched into the stone, its roots grounding it in place, and he doesn’t think he could find anything better than the life he’s built here.

 

Today, a day so cold and gray, is the type of day that has Yixing thinking, pondering, wondering the most. He stands behind the counter while Chanyeol assists a few customers over by the drum kits and stares at the grand piano and thinks about the backs of Baekhyun’s shoulders, terrified and sunken. He understands that time heals all wounds, but it’s been  _ weeks,  _ and his heart still aches in such an agonizing, debilitating way, at the thought of a life without Baekhyun, and a Baekhyun without him.

 

He looks over to where Chanyeol is explaining something to the customers, a family with young children that Yixing knows lives just around the block from him. Chanyeol is enthusiastic, his customer service voice and presence activated, always so charming. But, even through that, Yixing can see it. He can see the way the Chanyeol hasn’t been the same since Kyungsoo left and took Chanyeol’s biggest secret with him.

 

Yixing thinks, solemnly, that he can feel himself becoming another Chanyeol. He wonders if it will all be worth it in the end, or if he never,  _ ever  _ wants to be like him. To always force his head to remain high and proud while his shoulders and his disposition remain hanging by a thread.

 

What a sad, sad life his friend is living. What a sad, sad life he, himself, has chosen.

 

\-----

 

Burying his nose and mouth into his scarf, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, he climbs the hill on the far edge of the cemetery. The ground is hardened with the cold, no longer green and luscious. Just brown and dull and uninviting. He hates the winter, for its lack of colour, its lack of life. He misses the colour yellow. Yellow sun, yellow feeling, yellow hair.

 

He arrives at the top in little time, face-to-face with the gravestone gracing his grandparents’ names. For a long moment, he stares at the roots engraved into the stone, the swirling design of them taking up a majority of the surface. The largest part of the tree. He reminds himself of where his feet are planted, right here, right now.

 

_ “Yehyeh,”  _ he says, his voice smaller than he intended, the cloud of condensation around his mouth bigger than his voice, itself.  _ “Yehyeh,  _ I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

It’s then, Yixing realizes, that he really needs to cry.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, allows everything to well up within him, to overflow. He continues, “I went and fell in love with him. I fell in so deep, and now… I’ve just thrown it all away. I don’t- I don’t know whether to choose a future with him, or here, with you, I-”

 

His voice halts, as his breath shatters. He feels his damp eyelashes sticking together from the cold. He stands there and he shivers and he sniffles. And he wonders what his  _ yehyeh  _ would say to him.

 

Oh, how he wishes he were here to make this decision for him.

 

“I j-just want to make you proud,” he says around his sniffles. His face is stinging from the cold. “I just want to do right by you and- and keep your shop alive, and…”

 

He runs out of things to say. 

 

He feels, glaringly, like he’s failing his grandfather, no matter what decision he makes.

 

With nothing more to say, and the cold biting at his skin, he turns on his heel and stalks down the hill before he can change his mind. It’s too cold to stay out much longer, anyway, the air stinging into his skin like a million knives, freezing the tracks of his tears to his cheeks. He gets to his truck and wastes no time climbing in and starting up the engine, blasting the heat.

 

In the safety of his truck, the hot air swirling around him and defrosting his fingertips, he sits and he cries. Away from where his  _ yehyeh  _ watches him, away from where anyone can see, he sits and he cries and he wishes he could stop thinking about how, amongst all of his inner turmoil, he  _ hurt Baekhyun. _

 

That, unquestionably, is what has been killing him the most. He’d promised to Jongdae that he would never dream of hurting Baekhyun. He knew, all along, that Baekhyun had been hurt a thousand times before, and he never, ever wanted to be the one to do that to him. Yixing had wanted to be that  _ one  _ person to prove this pattern wrong.

 

And he went and broke his heart. He broke his heart like Baekhyun broke his vase. All of his carefully crafted gold stitches, holding him together, shattered like they did nothing in the first place.

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, he hadn’t paid attention to the clock. But, his tears run out, eventually, and without them filling him to the brim he feels oddly empty and distant. With a few blinks, to get his bearings back on earth, he puts his truck into first gear, and rolls away from the cemetery. Away from where he can physically feel the disappointment his  _ yehyeh  _ has in him.

 

The drive is short. Even shorter, when his mind is on another planet. So it doesn’t take long until he’s taking the keys out and heading up to his apartment. It’s cold and it’s quiet, so Yixing fills the silence by turning on his TV to some mindless infomercial channel, as he’s been doing the past couple weeks. Something that feels nothing, as Yixing feels too much. And something to just to fill his apartment with voices, besides whatever thoughts are spinning in his head.

 

Partway through making himself a quick dinner, his phone begins to ring. The sound startles him, as he’d settled into that quiet, bored headspace he’s been sinking into quite often, lately, but he turns the burner down and heads into the living room before the answering machine can pick up.

 

The caller ID says it’s his mother. He sighs.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yixing, honey,” she says, sounding like she’s struggling not to whisper, immediately telling Yixing that she’s speaking out of concern. “My love, do you have anything you want to talk about?”

 

His heart sinks into his stomach. He sits himself down on the couch, bracing himself for the worst. “What makes you say that?”

 

“Well, I- I just haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, and…”

 

He waits for her to finish her sentence, but she never does. Not for a long time. They both sit there, breathing into the phone. The voices from the TV fill the lack of sound, and Yixing begin to get more and more nervous.

 

The sound of her taking in a breath comes in through the receiver. “Baekhyun came over today with his vase in shambles, and asked me to help him fix it and-”

 

“Were you able to? Fix it?” He asks, his heart lurching forward in his chest.

 

His mother sighs. “Yeah, yeah we were.” Yixing melts into the couch cushion with relief. “It took a long time and… some pieces are missing, but. He did it.”

 

“Good,” Yixing says, completely earnest. “Good, I’m so glad.”

 

There’s a pause. Then, his mother says, “He cried into the vase the entire time. He was so quiet about it, I didn’t notice at first.”

 

Yixing melts into the couch in shame. “Ma-”

 

“When I asked him what happened to his vase, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Yixing, what is going on?”

 

It takes a long time, for Yixing to think of what to say. He curls up on his side, cheek pressed into the arm of the couch. He still feels hollow, after the cry he had that afternoon, and all the thoughts and words fill him with so much fervour, so much velocity, it almost feels like a punch to the gut.

 

He says, “Baekhyun asked to run away, to move to the city.” With his pause, he hears his mother’s breath stop short. “He has a lot of… I don’t want to say baggage, it’s not the right word. But his history with this town isn’t great and he- he wanted to get away.”

 

A long moment passes, where neither of them speak. Not until his mother says, resolutely, assuredly, “And you said no.”

 

For some reason, Yixing feels absolutely  _ ashamed  _ of himself.

 

“I said no.”

 

His mother releases a long, long sigh. “Oh, Yixing, my stubborn, clueless boy. Oh, how I wished you would learn something from him.”

 

Something about that sentence, about his mother’s disappointed, yet unsurprised tone of voice - it breaks a wall within him. He’d thought he had run out of tears this afternoon, but he was so terribly mistaken, breaking down into sobs, with his mother listening quietly on the other end of the line.

 

“Ma,” he says, “Mama, I broke his heart. I broke his heart because I d- because I can’t- can’t let  _ yehyeh  _ dow-own.”

 

“Oh, no. Oh, my child,” she says. Her voice sounds saddened, too. A little damp around the edges. “Yixing, do you truly think your  _ yehyeh  _ would have wanted you to stay in one, dull place for your entire life?”

 

Yixing cries harder, feels the words dig into his stomach like a knife. Because he knows, he  _ knows  _ his mother is right. His grandfather would have encouraged him to achieve greatness, to follow even the wildest dreams. His grandfather was a dreamer, he was creative and wise and full of whimsy. Yixing  _ knows.  _

 

He says, “But, ma, this is all I know.”

 

“And you don’t think you can learn?”

 

What he wants to tell her, but can’t find the words for, is that no matter how willing he may be to learn, to grow. No matter how much he wants to fight this fear of his that’s keeping him shackled down in place. No matter how much he wishes to break the cement blocks keeping his feet grounded where they are… he doesn’t know how he could ever face Baekhyun again.

 

He went and proved himself to just be another heartbreak in Baekhyun’s life. And it will kill him, to see it in Baekhyun’s eyes.

 

\-----

 

It’s snowing outside.

 

Yixing had been standing at the window in his living room, looking out at the white flecks falling from the dark sky for a good hour. He watched them dance in the light of the streetlights, and thought about how beautiful they are, and thought about the walks he and Baekhyun took in the summer, about a time when it was Baekhyun dancing under the streetlights. Not the beautiful symbol of this bitter winter.

 

Now, though, he’s lying on his couch, mindlessly watching that damn infomercial channel, something to keep his eyes and mind occupied. Something that evokes no emotion within him. 

 

It’s become just a blur. A blur of dull colours and low volume voices, as his exhaustion catches up with him, and he curls up further under the blanket that provides so little warmth, on the couch that provides so little comfort. He accepts it, embraces it, as sleep has not been so kind to him, as of late, and he can get any sleep that knocks on his door.

 

_ RRRIIINNNNNNGGGGGG _

 

Yixing groans, as the sound of his phone ringing jolts him awake. He isn’t sure how long it’s been, but the TV is displaying a different product than it had been when he’d last paid attention.

 

_ RRRIIINNNNNNGGGGGG _

 

He groans again, burying his face into the couch cushion. He can’t be bothered to pick up the phone, not at this ungodly hour. Just one more ring and then he’ll be undisturbed, again.

 

_ RRRIIINNNNNNGGGGGG _

 

The light from the TV is too bright. Everything is coated in this bluish silver, even the backs of his eyelids. His shoulders ache from sleeping on the couch, like this.

 

_ “Hey, you’ve reached Yixing, leave a message and I’ll call you back!” _

 

_ BEEEEEEP _

 

There’s a second, where no one speaks at all. There’s just the sound of someone’s breathing, the muffled noises of movement beyond the receiver.

 

“Listen, Yix’ng, list’n-”

 

The voice makes Yixing’s eyes fly open, his heart to begin racing into his chest.

 

“I know you’re…” the voice hiccups. “I know you’re prob’ly sleeping, but I’ve been thinkin’, okay? Been doing a lot of thinking.”

 

Yixing sits up, a furrow in his brow. His joints complain, but he’s too busy listening to Baekhyun, slurring and hiccuping his way into Yixing’s living room, to notice. His fists absently curl into the couch.

 

“Yeah, I know, I been drink-drinking but that doesn’t mean ‘m not  _ right,  _ okay?”

 

Yixing just shakes his head, at a loss for what to do.

 

“But, I’ve been thinking ‘bout how… how I told you  _ everything.  _ Even stuff I di’n wanna share, I told you all-  _ all  _ my secrets, and you!” He begins to sniffle, and Yixing can hear his own heart shattering. “You’re s’posed to be th- the honest one. ‘N I know nothing about you, ‘cept that your favourite colour is yellow and you own your grandpa’s store.”

 

There’s a moment, where all that’s heard is the quiet, broken sobs that Baekhyun’s been trying to hold back.

 

“And that- and that you say you love me, but not enough to wan-wanna kee-eep me!”

 

Unable to take this anymore, unable to listen to Baekhyun blubber and slur, he picks up the phone.

 

“Baekhyun.”

 

“N’no! Don’t talk to me!” He sobs into the phone. “I hate you!”

 

“Baekhyun, where are you?” he asks, mostly just concerned about Baekhyun’s safety at this point. He’s seen Baekhyun drunk, he’s seen Baekhyun high. But this is… he’s genuinely scared for him.

 

“No, you’re a- you’re a liar, and a coward!”

 

“Are you at home?” He’s already looking around his apartment to find where he’s left his shoes. The cord keeps him from moving too much. “I’m coming over.”

 

“It’ll make me too sad,” Baekhyun says, the clearest sentence he’s said yet. “It’ll make me so sad to see you.”

 

Without anything to say, with no response to such a sentence like that, Yixing hangs up the phone to grab his jacket and his keys.

 

The clock in his truck tells him that it’s just a little past three in the morning. It’s dark, but the snow falling somehow turns the sky this deep shade of magenta, this barely noticeable pink tint in the night sky. He drives too fast for the state the roads are in, but he can’t be bothered to care. Not when his mind is so occupied with a thousand other things, when his heart is beating so violently against his chest he’s at a loss of breath.

 

Between all of his concern for Baekhyun and the state he’s in, is the fear of finally seeing Baekhyun again. After a month of grief, of debilitating agony and heartbreak. He’s going to see him again.

 

And the way he’s going to see him, is as a wailing, sloppy, mess of booze and whatever else. He wishes it could have been any other way.

 

The stairs creak as he climbs them, up toward Baekhyun’s door. The light in the hall, still as grim and brassy and hideous as ever, lights his fist against the door as he knocks. He waits for a response.

 

“Baekhyun, it’s me.”

 

He distantly hears Baekhyun fumbling around beyond the door. Still, he doesn’t answer.

 

With a sigh, Yixing grabs the key from above the door frame and wiggles it in the lock until it gives, and he’s pushing the door open to the darkness of Baekhyun’s apartment. 

 

He closes the door behind him, and in the darkness that fills the room to every edge, he hears Baekhyun sniffling, somewhere in the shadows. He finds the lightswitch on the wall, and is met with the image of Baekhyun curled up on the floor in front of his futon, clutching his knees to his chest and crying into the carpet.

 

“Oh, Baekhyun,” he says, his heart somewhere in the pit of his belly.

 

He dives down to scoop Baekhyun up in his arms, but is met with hands smacking at him, pushing him away.

 

“No!”

 

“Baekhyun I need to get you to bed.”

 

“I hate you! I-I hate you!” Baekhyun shouts, crumbling back into another fit of sobs. Yixing’s stomach churns as he frowns down at Baekhyun, hesitantly reaching to gently brush his bangs away from his forehead. He’s finally cut his hair, and had his roots touched up, Yixing notices.

 

“I know,” Yixing says, once Baekhyun makes no effort to push his hands off of him, again. “And I deserve it. Let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

 

Baekhyun sniffles, but then he nods. Yixing wraps his arms around him and scoops him up into his arms, grunting as he struggles to stand.

 

He manages, and soon he’s walking over to the bed, trying to focus on the warmth of Baekhyun’s body against his, familiar yet harrowing. Trying not to look at where Baekhyun is boring into his face with his gaze. 

 

“You’re a liar,” Baekhyun says, barely audible through his slur.

 

But Yixing nods. “Yeah,” he says, gently placing Baekhyun down on the bed. He situates him so he’s sitting up. “Stay sitting up.”

 

He turns to head to the kitchen, finding a glass and filling it to the brim with water. He hears Baekhyun sniffling, and his heart breaks further. He knew, upon seeing Baekhyun again, he would see just how much damage he’s caused. He knows how much he hurt him. But no matter how aware he’s been, it’s still heartbreaking to physically see. Palpable evidence of the harm he’s caused, because of his fear of the unknown, his fear of something different, his fear of something  _ new.  _

 

It’s then that he remembers Baekhyun’s vase, and glances over his shoulder to see it sitting on the bookshelf, more gold paint than actual vase. 

 

He gives himself a moment to hang his head.

 

“I don’t hate you,” he hears Baekhyun murmur, just as he starts walking back out into the main area. “I love you ‘nd I hate it.”

 

Yixing crouches down next to the bed, one hand on Baekhyun’s knee. “Drink this.”

 

Baekhyun accepts the water, and guzzles it in record time. Yixing takes the glass back, placing it on the bedside table. When he looks back up, Baekhyun is staring at him. His eyes are foggy and droopy, puffy and red with tears and substance. Yixing just stares back. 

 

“You’re a liar,” Baekhyun says, again.

 

“I know.”

 

“You’re not happy, you’re scared.”

 

He hangs his head between his shoulders, completely defeated.

 

“I know.”

 

Baekhyun sniffles again, shuffling back on the bed. “‘M drunk,” he says, and Yixing can’t help but smile, amused, and nod. “I’m gon’ sleep.”

 

Yixing stands up, helps Baekhyun get the covers over himself. He’s still in his jeans, but neither of them make any mention of getting him out of them. Instead, Yixing just tucks him in, tells him to sleep well, and turns to curl up on the futon, no blanket, no pillow.

 

He knows, come tomorrow, they’ll have a whole lot to talk about. They’ll have so much to figure out, between the two of them. So much for Yixing to figure out, for himself.

 

It’s about time Yixing shares some secrets of his own. He’s tired of pretending he isn’t interesting enough to share his life with someone who wants to hear it.

 

\-----

 

Waking up in Baekhyun’s apartment is a strangely nostalgic feeling. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable, waking up to the smell of fabric softener and cigarettes. To white walls that meet a white ceiling. To bright sunlight streaming in through the window, because Baekhyun doesn’t know how to buy proper blinds. 

 

It doesn’t take much for Yixing to wake. He merely has to tilt his chin to break the surface of the shallowest of sleeps, breathing heavy through his nose as he frowns against the sunlight and the exhaustion that aches in his bones.

 

Waking up in Baekhyun’s apartment, right here, right now, could be almost perfectly recognizable and familiar. But waking up on the futon is foreign and… wrong.

 

He sits up, puts his feet on the floor. He stares, for a long time, at the specks of different colours in the carpet beneath is feet, but really looking at nothing at all. He thinks about a time, what feels like eons ago, when he and Baekhyun sat on that floor and cut Baekhyun’s old clothes into pieces, ridding Baekhyun of the life he used to live, one scrap of fabric at a time. 

 

Yixing has never, not even once, had any inkling to cut apart a piece of his life. It’s something he will never understand. But it is something he’s learned to accept. Baekhyun’s life, Baekhyun’s position, is very different from that of his own.

 

With a glance to his side, he sees a lump in the blankets, beneath the window. A tuft of yellow hair sticks out from beneath the covers, and it makes Yixing smile to himself before pushing himself up, onto his feet, and toward the edge of the bed.

 

“Morning,” he whispers, ensuring that he doesn’t disturb Baekhyun. He can see the rise and fall of his breath from beneath the blankets, the back of his head as he lays on his stomach and snores away. Sleeps off the alcohol and the sadness from the night before.

 

He decides to scrounge through Baekhyun’s kitchen in an effort to find something to make for breakfast. There isn’t a whole lot, but Yixing thinks he can manage with the few things he finds, cracking open a few eggs into a bowl, grabbing a fork to whisk them together.

 

Cooking breakfast in Baekhyun’s apartment. Now, that... that feels right. 

 

The omelettes are nearly finished, the coffee nearly brewed, when there’s finally movement from the far end of the room. Baekhyun groans, curling himself up into a ball to force himself to sit on his calves. He squints at Yixing, his hair a mess, his face puffy with sleep and a hangover, and he’s so damn cute Yixing feels as though he could die over and over.

 

But, suddenly, it all hits him at once, how nervous he is. How terrifying it is, to be here, with Baekhyun. Both sober, both fully aware, both petrified of what could possibly be left to say.

 

“Hi,” Yixing settles on.

 

He earns a small, understanding smile. “Did you come take care of me last night?”

 

Oddly embarrassed, Yixing ducks his head to turn back to his cooking. “I just gave you water and put you to bed. No big deal.”

 

Baekhyun nods. Neither of them move, or say anything more.

 

With a quiet, reserved sigh, Yixing turns off the burner and puts the second omelette on a plate. He busies himself pouring coffee, putting all the milk and sweeteners Baekhyun likes in his coffee, buttering the toast to put on the plates with the eggs.

 

Yixing finishes making breakfast, but he’s too nervous to say anything. Even just to tell Baekhyun breakfast is ready.

 

Luckily, Baekhyun speaks first.

 

“I remember calling you last night.” His voice is low, gentle, pensive. Yixing looks over at him, to see his chin in his chest and a frown between his brows. “I remember the things I said. I’m sorry I kept trying to insist I hated you. That’s just… not true.”

 

Yixing is at a complete loss of what to say. He just stares back at him, wide-eyed, his heart fluttering and his stomach curling.

 

Baekhyun continues, “I’m heart broken, but I’m not filled with hate.” A long moment passes, after that sentence, and Baekhyun releases a sigh, wringing his hands together in his lap. “You never treated me poorly. I have nothing to hate you for.”

 

“I-” Yixing tries to start, but his words get caught in his throat. He swallows, composes himself. “I backed out at the first mention of something serious, something big. I just backed out like a coward.”

 

“Yixing-”

 

“I didn’t even give you a chance to make your point, to convince me. I just shut you down and that was wrong.”

 

Baekhyun stares back at him, so Yixing challenges him with his gaze. They hold each other’s gaze for a long stretch of time, studying each other’s faces, waiting for the first to crack. Yixing busies himself just studying Baekhyun’s soft skin, the way the sunlight from behind him makes his yellow hair glow white, like a halo around his head.

 

He’s grateful Baekhyun broke the ice, allowing conversation to flow, allowing them to get things off their chest. No matter how everything turns out, Yixing is at least glad to have reconciled this, to have called a truce.

 

He sucks in a breath, says, “So, yeah, I’m so, so sorry. Breakfast is here.”

 

Before it all gets too much and he does something stupid like cry, Yixing turns to put the plates on the island, grabbing the utensils and coffees. He hears Baekhyun sigh, thoughts so loud he has to release some of the noise, before he climbs out of bed and walks over to the island with quiet, hesitant footsteps.

 

“My head is fucking killing me,” Baekhyun grumbles with a smirk.

 

Yixing snorts. “I bet it does.”

 

Eating breakfast with Baekhyun feels right, too. Sitting side-by-side at the island, munching quietly on their food and sipping carefully at their coffees. Normally, Baekhyun would be babbling on about something or other, always a man with so much to say. It makes Yixing smile to himself, just thinking about it.

 

“This is weird,” Baekhyun says, out of nowhere. “All this quiet. It’s so weird.”

 

That makes Yixing laugh, nodding into his next sip of coffee. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

 

Baekhyun smiles at him. “It’s weird, being so quiet, so uncomfortable, around you. I don’t like it.”

 

“Yeah,” Yixing nods. “But, eat up, cure that headache. I have something I want to show you, today.”

 

Baekhyun frowns, cocking his head to the side. It makes Yixing’s chest tighten, permanently fond of Baekhyun’s cute little habits, his very own body language that Yixing has become so fluent in. He thinks he’s been cursed to love this boy for the rest of his life.

 

He’d call it a blessing, but the aches in his ribs are enough to classify it the curse of all curses.

 

“Just wait and see,” Yixing says, finishing up the last of his breakfast to get up and rinse his dishes in the sink. “This is a long overdue conversation.”

 

Baekhyun’s voice is small, but he still responds with an, “Okay.”

 

They remain mostly quiet, as they continue about their morning. Baekhyun changes out of the clothes he slept in, offers something for Yixing to wear. He just politely declines, instead content to just sit on his stool at the island, preparing himself for the conversation he’s about to have. He thinks about how he hasn’t a clue how today will end, what tomorrow it may lead to. 

 

If he and Baekhyun will ever be okay again.

 

They bundle up in jackets and scarves, and Yixing finds it funny how Baekhyun’s favourite clunky boots  _ finally  _ make sense to wear outside. But, despite the snow on the ground that had fallen the night before, the day is beautiful. Mild and sunny, calm and kind to them. The snow, fresh as it is, sparkles in the sunlight.

 

They wait for Yixing’s truck to warm up before heading out. The ride is quiet, without music, without the courage to say much to each other. The drive is peaceful and brief, Baekhyun just watching the sparkles is the snow as they speed by, until Yixing is pulling into the cemetery at the edge of town.

 

When he cuts the engine, Baekhyun turns to frown at him.

 

Yixing clears his throat. “I should have taken you here to meet him, ages ago.”

 

Baekhyun’s lips part with a quiet gasp. Suddenly, he looks even more nervous than he had all morning. It makes Yixing smile as he unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches over to unbuckle Baekhyun’s for him.

 

“Come on.”

 

The snow crunches beneath their feet as they climb the little hill, side by side. Yixing almost,  _ almost  _ reaches out to take Baekhyun’s hand in his, but stops himself. Decides the butterflies he gets when their elbows brush is enough. 

 

“You said, last night, that for someone so open, so supposedly honest, I don’t share an awful lot,” Yixing says.

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “You share your thoughts as they come to you. But you’ve never told me anything about your past, about your childhood, about…” he trails off.

 

Yixing nods, because he understands. “I know. I realize that.”

 

They arrive at the top of the hill, face to face with his grandparents’ tombstone. He reaches out to brush the snow off the top of the stone, dig it out of the grooves of the tree. Baekhyun stands quietly next to him, hands in his pockets, unsure what to do with himself.

 

Yixing continues, “I’ve always considered myself unremarkable, I guess. I’ve always felt like I haven’t much to share. Like no one would care about my textbook childhood in a humble small town.”

 

He turns to looks at Baekhyun, who turns to look back at him.

 

“I now realize the problem in that. And I now realize that, if I keep living like this, my life will never have any remarkable story to share.”

 

Baekhyun frowns, shakes his head. “It doesn’t have to be remarkable. Life doesn’t have to be remarkable to be good.” He turns to frown at the names engraved in the stone, instead. “All that matters is you… live as  _ much  _ as you can.”

 

Yixing feels his expression soften, as the words settle into his skin. He looks down at the stone, smiles at his grandparents’ names. How perfectly beautiful this moment is, Yixing thinks. Here with three people he loves so greatly.

 

“Either way. It’s about time you learn a little something about me,” Yixing says, “and why I am the way I am.”

 

“I like you the way you are,” Baekhyun whispers, as though it’s said by accident. “For the most part, that is.”

 

Yixing chuckles, just quietly. He takes a deep breath. “Hey,  _ yehyeh.  _ I’m finally bringing Baekhyun for you to meet.”

 

Baekhyun gives a quick, polite bow to the tombstone, and Yixing laughs a little louder, this time.

 

“And, yes, I know I completely downplayed just how lovely and clever and sweet he is. I know he defies whatever expectations I could have possibly given you.”

 

Baekhyun’s already wind-bitten cheeks redden further, and he bashfully hides his face in his scarf. The corners of Yixing’s lips are stuck where they are, pulling his mouth into the most smitten, ecstatic of smiles.

 

He sighs, happy just to be here, and reaches a hand out to trace his finger along the roots of the tree. Baekhyun watches his finger intently, following as it traces through every loop and curve, then onto the next root.

 

“When I was around nine years old,” Yixing starts, “my  _ yehyeh  _ took me on a hike. I’ve never been able to remember where this mountain was, but, I remember it was a beautiful summer day, and my poor  _ yehyeh  _ was just starting to get too old to keep up.”

 

He glances to his side to see Baekhyun smiling softly into his scarf.

 

“We stopped to sit on this rock, so he could catch his breath, drink some water. There was this beautiful, big tree, and I talked about how big the trunk was, how it would take five of me just to wrap my arms around it.

 

“My  _ yehyeh  _ said to me, ‘You would think the trunk is the strongest part of the tree, right?’ and I nodded, because, of course, it was so big and strong and sturdy. How could it not be? But, then he said to me something that has stuck with me ever since that afternoon.”

 

Baekhyun meets his gaze, when he turns to face him. A chunk of his hair has caught on his eyelashes, so Yixing reaches up to brush his bangs off his forehead with gentle fingers. His touch lingers a little too long.

 

He continues, “My  _ yehyeh  _ said to me, ‘The roots, dear child, are by far the strongest part of the tree. They dig themselves metres into the earth to feed and nourish and give home to this big, sturdy trunk.’” Yixing stops to chuckle to himself. “He said, ‘Try to kick it over, I dare you.’”

 

A smile grows across Baekhyun’s lips, too.

 

“My roots are here, Baekhyun,” Yixing says. “No matter how much I’ve considered digging myself up and replanting myself somewhere new, with you, this is where my roots have grown, and where they’ve made me strongest. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to just dig my roots out of this earth.”

 

A moment passes, where neither of them speak. All that can be heard is the gentle wind, sifting through branches, knocking the snow off them and onto the ground. Yixing just studies the curved lines of the roots of the tree carved into stone, and allows the words to settle in the air around them.

 

Lowly, Baekhyun says, “But they grow towards the water.”

 

Yixing frowns, turning to blink at Baekhyun. “What do you mean?”

 

Baekhyun just blinks back at him for a moment, seems to gather the words he wants to say.

 

“That night, in the summer, I made the same wish a hundred times. On every shooting star I could see, I made the same wish, over and over,” he says, earnest, his eyes wide and intense and sparkling so brilliantly in all the sun and snow around them. “I wished to always feel as happy as I did at that very moment, there, in that truck bed with you.”

 

Yixing’s lips part around his breath, his heart flying into overdrive. “Baekhyun-”

 

“And for the most part, Yixing, my wish has come true. In the time we spent together, I had never been more happy in my whole life. It… it finally felt like I had a permanent home, and a family to call my own.” He stops to look away, to instead frown at the snow at his feet, shake his head. “You make me so fucking happy, Yixing. I’ve become so much better, because I wanted to be good enough for you.”

 

“You were already good enough. Perfect, even.”

 

He shakes his head, glares at Yixing with a completely dumbfounded expression. “No, that isn’t true. I’ve grown, Yixing. I’ve evolved in the time I spent with you.”

 

He turns away, again, his shoulders sinking with a dose of sadness. He kicks the snow under his boots. “Even after you, I’m better than I was before you. You taught me that using my past to reflect on and learn from will make me a better person. You taught me not to ignore my past and the lessons I learned. Because of that, because of you, I’ve grown so much. And if I have to make the next steps in my growth, without you, then so be it. I’m capable. I  _ can  _ do it, now.”

 

“I know you can.”

 

Baekhyun sighs. “I just don’t want to. I don’t  _ want it  _ to be without you.”

 

Yixing doesn’t have the right words to say, so he says nothing at all. He just watches Baekhyun as a lifetime’s worth of emotions and thoughts flicker through his expression. He watches the small twitches of his lips, the light and the darkness that flash through his eyes. Then, he turns to face Yixing with an immeasurable amount of zeal in his gaze.

 

“I know your roots are planted here, but roots continue to grow, continue to search for the most fertile earth and the biggest source of water until the day that tree dies. Hell, there are trees that literally  _ walk  _ along the earth, trying to get closer to where they can find the water that sustains them.”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut. Yixing holds his breath.

 

“What I’m  _ trying  _ to say is,” he says, “you can leave your roots in this earth, right here, and let them find the most sustainable land. You can’t keep growing if you stay here until the earth is sucked dry.”

 

Baekhyun finishes, there, with a puff of condensation as he releases a heavy breath. Yixing just stares at him, mouth agape, a furrow in his brow, a little dumbfounded at everything just said to him. Because, maybe, just maybe, Baekhyun is right.

 

Maybe Yixing has sucked the earth beneath him dry, and it’s time to look for fertile soil. Maybe it is possible to grow and spread his roots, without needing to replant, entirely. It’s terrifying, acknowledging the possibility of a life on new earth, with new opportunities and new places, new friends,  _ new everything.  _ But, maybe, that’s really what he needs to grow big and strong, until no one can kick him over.

 

“Wise man,” he mutters. Baekhyun nudges him with his elbow, but Yixing grabs it, catches Baekhyun’s full attention.

 

“W-what?” Baekhyun blinks up at him with wide eyes. 

 

“Can I kiss you?” Yixing asks, suddenly unable to look away from Baekhyun’s lips. “I really, really miss kissing you.”

 

Baekhyun blinks, his mouth opening and closing on its own accord as he struggles to find his words. “I- only if you’re willing to give this a chance,” he eventually gets out. “I don’t want a goodbye kiss.”

 

Yixing shakes his head, “No, never. Never to you.”

 

And then he lifts a hand to cradle Baekhyun’s jaw in his palm, and tilts his head down to meet Baekhyun’s mouth in the most tremendous of kisses. Baekhyun’s lips are cold at the surface, yet still warm with the life within him, and Yixing melts into it, into him, until there's nothing left to him besides the feeling that Baekhyun fills him to the brim with. Until all he is is the warmth under Baekhyun’s palms, even through layers of clothing in the middle of winter.

 

Yixing’s heart has burst and regrown, burst and regrown, about a hundred times. He makes a wish on every shooting star somewhere, sometime, that he always feels as complete and content as he does, this very moment. Here, in Baekhyun’s hold, finally reconnected after so long apart. Here, with the people he loves the very most, feeling full and excited, knowing that there is  _ so much  _ he has yet to learn.

 

So much he has yet to learn from Baekhyun.

 

They part, after some time. After they’ve both become dizzy, buzzing in their fingers and toes. Baekhyun’s eyes sparkle and burn with the light of a thousand fireworks as he looks up at Yixing, shaking his head as though he can’t believe everything that just happened.

 

But, then he says, “I don’t wanna make out with you in front of your  _ grandparents.” _

 

And Yixing laughs so hard, so overjoyed he’s physically overflowing, pulling Baekhyun against his chest tight, and hoping he never has to let go, again.

 

No.  _ Deciding  _ he never has to let go, again.

 

\-----

 

“Please be careful with that!” Baekhyun squeaks, as Chanyeol and Jongdae load the keyboard into the back of the truck, between the boxes of their stuff.

 

It’s interesting, Yixing thinks, seeing their lives physically meshed together, even if just to be packed into his truck bed, for now. All this time they’ve been together, they haven’t really lived together, yet. And to see pieces of each of their worlds all squished together into one, condensed area, it fills Yixing with this strange sort of giddiness in his chest.

 

He can’t wait to see what it all looks like, filling up  _ their  _ apartment, that they have  _ together. _

 

It took a lot of work, downsizing and deciding what each of them can and can’t take. There’s only so much they can fit into the back of his truck and in the backseat. It was a pretty unanimous decision, though, that Baekhyun gets his keyboard. Now that he’s playing again, he can’t quite seem to stop.

 

Yixing double checks that everything’s been packed up, and when he sees no more boxes or bags left, he’s flooded with nerves and anticipation. His heart flutters and his palms sweat, despite the chilly weather. This is happening. This is  _ really  _ happening. He and Baekhyun are packing up, and moving on. Letting their roots spread from one pile of earth to the next.

 

Jongdae stalks over to slap Baekhyun on the center of his back. “Well, you excited to start a real job, now?”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I’m still just gonna be a waiter.”

 

“Yeah, but you won’t be working  _ for me,” _ Jongdae says, as though it’s the most obvious thing ever.

 

“You’re right, you are a pretty terrible boss.”

 

That earns him a slap upside the head. Yixing snorts, before leaving them to it and heading over to where Chanyeol’s leaning against the tailgate, his arms crossed, staring pensively at the ground.

 

Yixing knows that Chanyeol will have some adjusting to do, just as he and Kyungsoo have. As Yixing has learned, through him, change comes whether you leave or you stay, and Chanyeol will have opportunity ahead of him, just as the rest of them.

 

He knows, without a doubt, that Chanyeol is truly happy, right where he is. Just as Yixing could have been. And though he’ll miss Chanyeol, and Chanyeol will miss him, he’s glad to know that he’ll be here, where he thrives. Despite the sadness of losing Kyungsoo, of losing Yixing, he’s genuinely where he belongs. And he’ll always just be a short road trip away. Yixing  _ has  _ always loved road trips.

 

With a sigh, Yixing steps in to wrap his arms around Chanyeol’s shoulders in a tight hug. His heart clenches, knowing he has to say goodbye, for today, and when he pulls back, Chanyeol’s eyes are glassy, but his smile is wide. Yixing giggles, realizing how damp the sound is, and reaches up to ruffle Chanyeol’s hair.

 

“I love you, buddy.”

 

“You, too, Xing.”

 

A pause. “Take good care of my  _ yehyeh’s  _ store, now.”

 

An eager nod. “I love that shop almost as much as you do.”

 

Yixing laughs, settling himself back against the tailgate, too. He stands elbow-to-elbow with Chanyeol and sighs. “Almost.”

 

It’s shocking, to him, how much his heart aches. He hadn’t felt this sad last night, when he and Baekhyun went for a departing dinner at his mother’s. His mother was too full of excitement for them to feel any sort of sadness about leaving her behind. But, with Chanyeol, Yixing really hates knowing he won’t be seeing his friend every day, at work, any longer.

 

“Don’t let Yerim get away with just anything,” Yixing says. “She has a way of doing that. Keep her in tip top shape and then you can give the shop to her and move to the city with us.”

 

Chanyeol laughs, loud and vibrant as he always does. His eyes sparkle, a little dream-like, as he says, “Nah, that shop is mine, now. I’m never letting her go.”

 

With another sigh, Yixing just looks out at the parking lot around him. He looks up at his apartment building, at the gravel beneath his feet, at the silvery, overcast skies above. He breathes in the air, the smell. He looks over at where Jongdae and Seungwan are pestering Baekhyun for something, making him blush and laugh, and Yixing smiles.

 

He smiles because amongst all the departure means there will be new arrival. He loves this city, the placed that raised him and nurtured him, and turned him into the person he’s become. He loves his friends and he loves his shop and he loves his mother. But, most importantly, he loves the prospect of an entire future with Baekhyun. A future where they can both grow, more and more, until they become the biggest and strongest they’ve ever been, and will ever be.

 

Chanyeol nudges him with his elbow. “You better get going. I’m sure Heechul’s sick of waiting for you to show up and start pulling your weight around there.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I should go before it starts to get dark, huh?”

 

It takes a little longer, with all the kisses from Seungwan, all the hugs they can’t stop exchanging. But, eventually, he and Baekhyun climb into the truck and simultaneously release a heavy breath, release the tension that’s been building in them. One glance between them, and Yixing is roaring up the engine and putting the truck in gear.

 

Their friends wave at them as they pull away, and Baekhyun hangs his upper body out the passenger window to frantically wave his arms at them, screaming his  _ I LOVE YOU’s.  _ Yixing laughs, despite the cold air coming in through the window and filling the cab. He just can’t stop the excitement that’s thrumming within him.

 

A couple minutes pass by peacefully, once Baekhyun’s back to sitting properly in his seat, and they’ve made it past the edge of Yixing’s beloved little town.

 

“What do you wanna do, next week?” Baekhyun asks, distractedly.

 

“You mean for Valentine’s Day?” Yixing asks, shifting his weight to sit a bit more comfortably in his seat, knowing they have a couple hours ahead of them.

 

“Yeah. What do you wanna do?”

 

Yixing shrugs. “We could just set up a pillow nest in our living room, if we don’t have a couch by then. Order some take out.”

 

Baekhyun beams, leaning back against the headrest. “It sounds perfect.”

 

And Yixing agrees. He agrees because it doesn’t matter  _ what  _ Baekhyun and Yixing do, on Valentine’s Day, or for their birthdays, or any other day of the year. It doesn’t matter what they do, every day, for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll be together, caring for each other, learning from each other, and becoming better, every day.

 

He reaches across the center console to take Baekhyun’s hand in his, and glances in his rearview mirror to see his hometown behind him. To see his  _ yehyeh’s _ shop, and Kim’s grocery store, his mother’s house, Joohyun’s library, the cat behind the deli. He sees the schools he went to and the friends he’s had since birth and his grandparents’ gravestone on the little hill at the edge of town.

 

He sees his entire life behind him, in this tiny reflective rectangle, through the back window of his truck. Every corner and every detail of every story Yixing has ever experienced, there, behind him. Where it will always stay. 

 

And then he turns his gaze back to the road ahead.

 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i just wanted to say, in order to cure the hearts of all you sad chansoo shippers out there,, some time in the near future, kyungsoo's firm assigns him to go work in a little small town (guess where!) because they're building a shopping centre or something so ksoo moves back for work and then he and pcy live happily ever after okay thanks for reading.
> 
> also, again, thanks for making it through this fic. insert crying emojis.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far!  
> If you like what you read, post a comment, find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bbhsteeth), or [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/bbhsteeth), or buy me a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/laurenandrea).
> 
> I'll see you in two weeks!


End file.
